


The Best Things Come From Nowhere

by runthegamut (orphan_account)



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-24
Updated: 2009-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/runthegamut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A High School AU wherein Fall Out Boy attend public school, My Chemical Romance attend private school, and Patrick and Mikey meet while working together at a grocery store.  As a friendship blossoms between the two, Patrick learns he can't always see the obvious.  Fortunately, that's what best friends are for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Things Come From Nowhere

Patrick was gradually awakening, the dull murmur of voices slowly filtering into his conscious. He was becoming aware of the kink forming in his neck from lying on a meager throw pillow, the way the carpet pressed against his forearm, and the slight tingling in his fingers that signaled his hand was falling asleep. Everything outside of those physical sensations was fuzzy, like a dream.

It was the sound of a gunshot that pulled him back into the present completely. He was awake, but kept his eyes closed and lay still in his spot on the floor, listening to the voices of Pete and Ashlee coming from the couch above him.

“Hm. I know people can survive shots to the head, but I’m pretty sure he should have something more wrong with him than just a sore jaw and a little blood,” she was saying.

“I don’t care, because the effects there are awesome; the slow motion way we get to see his cheeks inflate and his head fly back? The smoke is a nice touch, too,” he replied.

“Oh, totally,” she agreed. “I’m just saying it’s not terribly realistic.”

Pete was laughing; amused, not in a mean way. “I’m pretty sure very little in this movie can be considered realistic.”

Patrick didn’t need to open his eyes to know that onscreen, as The Pixies were launching into “Where Is My Mind?” the narrator was taking Marla Singer’s hand as they watched the surrounding buildings get demolished.

“Baby, would you stand by my side while I blew up the world?” he asked, and Patrick knew he was grinning that cheesy way he did at her, eyes half closed.

“I thought I already was,” she answered, probably smiling back.

The soft smacking sound of lips being pressed together began to emanate from above him. As the sounds grew wetter, Patrick began to regret not sitting up as soon as he was awake. He figured that at this point, it was less embarrassing for everyone if he lied still and continued pretending to be asleep. To his relief, the kissing stopped after a couple minutes.

“Pete,” she said gently, but firmly.

“What?” he asked, clearly confused as to why she was stopping him.

“Patrick’s right there...”

In between the sounds of more kisses, Pete murmured, “He’s sleeping.”

“No, he’s not,” she insisted.

“No, I’m not,” Patrick parroted. He cracked his eyes open and carefully looked up to the couch, prepared to close them again if anyone’s clothing had been removed. Mercifully, he found Ashlee sitting with her legs over Pete’s lap, both fully clothed. “How did you know?” he asked her.

Ashlee smiled down at Patrick as she leaned slightly over the couch to see him better. “Your breathing changed a few minutes ago. I figured you were waking up. Have a nice nap?”

Patrick lifted his hat off his head and smoothed his hand over his hair before replacing it. “Yeah, I’m good,” he answered as he pushed himself up to a seated position. “I should probably get going though,” he added as Pete nuzzled his face into Ashlee’s neck.

“Aw, you don’t have to leave, Patrick.” Ashlee frowned at Patrick as he stood, placing a hand against Pete’s chest to stop him from leaving the hickey he was no doubt intending. “We’ll behave.”

Pete looked up at where Patrick was standing and straightening out his clothes. “You know what you need? You need someone to make out with during movies so you don’t have to feel so weird about watching them with us. We can double date and stuff.”

Catching his lip between his teeth, Patrick looked away, his fingers shoved in the front pockets of his jeans as his thumbs brushed over the denim. “I’m good, thanks,” he decided after a moment.

“No, seriously!” Ashlee chimed in, pulling her legs from Pete’s lap and tucking her knees underneath herself as she sat up higher on the couch. “Who’s your type? I can fix you up with someone!” She looked entirely too excited about the possibility.

“Um.” Patrick looked at the two of them and blinked a few time. “I have to go,” he repeated before turning to make his way to the door.

“Aw, Patrick,” Pete called after him. “Why do you have to be like that?”

Patrick stopped and sighed, his back to the couch. “Really,” he replied, turning back around so Pete could see he was telling the truth. “I have to be up early. I work in the morning.”

Pete’s face broke into a grin at the mention of work. “Yeah? What time?”

Rolling his eyes, Patrick shrugged. “Ten to Four?”

“Awesome,” Pete answered, satisfied. “See you there.”

***

Patrick had gotten his job bagging groceries the summer after he turned sixteen, the legal age to work without a permit. His allowance and the occasional lawn-mowing job weren’t enough to earn him the cash he needed to buy all the albums he wanted, so he went in and applied at the store his mom had been frequenting every Saturday since he could remember. In fact, he probably got the job on account of the fact that the store manager, Mr. Rapple, knew his mother.

It was easy enough work, mindless after he got the hang of it. It was a matter of being able to organize the groceries as he saw them coming down the line, placing them in the right bag. Cans got their own bag, of course, and Patrick had learned how many he could put in doubled-up plastic sacks (six, unless they were Campbell’s condensed soup cans, in which case eight would safely fit). Breads and chips couldn’t be put in with other items. Frozen foods were grouped together. Fresh meat got a little plastic sleeve before being placed in its own sack so as not to cross-contaminate the fresh fruit.

(The process was not at all dissimilar to categorizing records. Soul got its own section, hip hop another, punk another. Otherwise, Etta James would end up next to either the Eurythmics or Jadakiss, and that would just be _wrong_. Classify and subdivide, that was the name of the game.)

It was a pretty decent job for a seventeen - year - old. He didn’t come home smelling like grease, the uniform wasn’t anything appalling, and most importantly, they let him wear a hat. Pretty much, the only downside was that sometimes he’d see one of his parent’s friends come through the line and they’d coo at him and how responsible he was being, or they’d remark how they wished their son or daughter would be as responsible as him. It was run of the mill embarrassing stuff, nothing major.

Patrick didn’t have to worry too much about seeing his peers, though. Most of the kids who came shopping with their parents were ten or under. Teenagers opted to stay home or were at practices or rehearsals or the like. It was a fairly safe job in that respect. The only person he knew that he saw on a regular basis - save his coworkers - was Pete, who would come in, buy a pack of gum, insist that he needed it bagged, and then stand next to Patrick, chewing said gum and talking about random stuff as Patrick bagged the next four or five customers.

“Soooo,” Pete smirked as he came through the line that day. The cashier scanned his pack of gum and then handed it to Patrick with an irritated eye roll. “How’s work going?”

Patrick dropped the gun in a plastic sack and then handed it to Pete after he had collected his change. “It’s awesome, as always.”

“Isn’t your day a little brighter for having seen my face?” Pete teased.

Patrick couldn’t help but smile at his friend. “Something like that,” he agreed, readying the grocery sacks for the next customer. “So what are you up to today?”

Pete shrugged, tearing open his pack of gum and popping a piece in his mouth. “The usual,” he replied. “I’ve got soccer practice this afternoon and then after dinner I’m going over to Ashlee’s. Hey, you want to go see that new Seth Rogan movie with us tonight?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Patrick sighed, quickly grabbing the cans that came down the line and dropping them into the sacks before doubling them up. “I already played third wheel last night. You guys should have a Saturday night out without me, you know?”

Frowning, Pete looked down at where he was scuffing the toe of his shoe against the floor. “You’re not a third wheel. You’re my best friend. I like hanging out with you. So does Ash.”

Patrick grimaced because he knew it was true. But Pete and Ashlee had been dating for over six months now and as their relationship got more serious, Patrick couldn’t help but feeling like a voyeur. “Yeah, but you guys should have some time alone together, too. It’s cool. I was going to go look at albums after work anyway, so I’ll probably have a few new purchases I’ll want to listen to tonight.”

“You sure?” Pete asked, sounding doubtful. “I really don’t want you to feel weird about hanging out with us. Like, it’s not a problem or anything. Is it—“ Pete paused, his eyes shifting from Patrick to the wall behind him. “ _Is_ it because you don’t have someone to bring with? Ashlee has some friends who are single,” he offered.

Pausing from bagging the groceries a moment, Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, Pete,” he said firmly. “I mean, it would be nice and all, but it’s not… I’m not going to date someone just to date someone, okay? If I meet the right person, cool. I don’t want to be set up with anyone or anything.” Glancing over to see the sad look on his friend’s face, Patrick added, “I really do have stuff to do tonight. I’m not going to be sitting home feeling sorry for myself. Don’t worry about it. Okay?”

“Yeah, alright,” Pete nodded, sounding unconvinced. He offered Patrick a piece of gum before noticing the look Mr. Rapple was giving him and making his way for the door. “I’ll catch you tomorrow,” he called as he left.

***

As public high schools went, the one Patrick attended was definitely considered a ‘good’ one. They had state champion football and soccer teams, three debaters competed at nationals that year, and some eighty percent of its seniors planned to attend college. The facilities were top-rate, the hallways were clean, and the student body was predominantly upper middle class.

The only thing that Patrick really cared about, though, was that the school, by and large, was pretty easy going when it came to social interaction. There weren’t strictly defined social groups and to the extent that someone was considered a ‘band kid’ or an ‘honors students,’ there was a line-crossing; it wasn’t a very cliquish school.

Patrick’s own friends were a hodgepodge group: Pete was an athlete, Joe was a stoner, Andy was a metal-head, and Matt was pretty popular. Patrick didn’t really put himself into a category. As far as he was concerned, he was sort of a nobody. He had been in band his freshman and sophomore years, but quit when he started working at the grocery store. He didn’t really participate in any extra-curricular activities, didn’t drink or smoke, wasn’t an honors student; he was just sort of there. He was okay with that.

“Sup?” Joe greeted him one Monday morning as Patrick took his seat in their English class, scooting his chair over to make room for Patrick at the table. “Did you enjoy writing fifteen hundred words this weekend on Ethan Frome and the themes of desperation in this classic American novel?” Joe sneered.

“Fuck,” Patrick mumbled as he dropped his book bag onto the floor slumping into his seat. “Shit, I totally forgot,” he admitted, dropping his head into his hands. “I worked both Saturday and Sunday to get some extra hours in and I fucking blew off my homework.”

“Ah,” Joe sympathized. “Well, it’s not like Ms. Kellerman is a hardass about turning things in late. She’ll probably only knock you down one grade if you turn it in tomorrow.”

Patrick folded his arms on the desk and laid his head on them. “So if I’m lucky I’ll get a C,” he moaned. “Which will be a miracle, seeing as how I’ve only read the first two chapters.”

Joe fished something out of his bag and tossed it onto the table next to Patrick. When he looked over, Patrick saw a Cliff Notes version of the book. “To ease your troubles, my friend,” Joe said as he pushed it over to Patrick.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Patrick replied, grateful for the help. “Fuck, I need to get on the ball with my classes. If I don’t keep my grades up, my mom will make me quit my job.”

“You know, most teenagers don’t _want_ to work,” Joe offered thoughtfully. “I know I don’t.”

Patrick chuckled as he bent down to stuff the Cliff Notes in his bag. “Yeah, well, I need the money to fund my habit.”

“Ah, yes. Your vinyl addiction,” Joe replied, shaking his head sadly. “Another poor soul who’s lost his innocence to the thrill of a needle in the groove of a record. I, for one, am glad my addiction is to one hundred percent organic shit. I can grow it in my backyard if need be.”

“Oh, I’m sure that would fly with Mr. and Mrs. Trohman,” Patrick snorted.

Joe reclined in his chair, draping one arm over the back. “I would tell them it was for the science fair. Also, I could profit off its sale, and then I wouldn’t have to worry about working my fingers to the bone at an after school job and forgetting to write insightful theories on Edith Wharton’s tragic protagonist.”

Patrick slid his fingers under the frames of his glasses to massage his temples. “Please, don’t remind me,” he groaned.

“Oh, hey,” Joe said suddenly. “Speaking of your job, I saw some new guy working there last week. He had crazy hair and a Smiths shirt on. This seems like someone I would get along with.”

Patrick glanced up at the mop of curly hair atop Joe’s head and then frowned. “Wait, what were you doing at the store?” he asked.

“I needed a honey bear,” Joe replied, matter of factly. “Where else would one go to purchase a honey bear?”

“Joe,” Patrick laughed, shaking his head. Joe returned Patrick’s smile before the bell rang and Ms. Kellerman asked the class to pass their essay papers forward.

***

Patrick checked the work schedule the next time he came in, but he hadn’t recognized the new name on it – Mikey Way - from school. He didn’t recognize his face, either, when Mr. Rapple had sent him to the back room to retrieve another case of plastic sacks and Patrick had found a thin guy, taller than him, ducking his head through the loop of a white apron. The guy’s light brown hair hung in longer strips around his face, tucked beneath the frames of his black glasses, which caught on the neck of the apron, pushing them askew.

_Mikey_ , Patrick thought as he averted his eyes and went to grab the cardboard box containing the sacks. He heaved the box into his arms and as he turned, the new guy was standing with his mouth hanging slightly open, knees together, as he squinted at the schedule. Patrick made a quick exit before the guy could say anything to him. He figured they’d make a proper introduction later.

The thing was, Patrick actually managed to go an astoundingly long time without saying a word to Mikey; they either worked opposite schedules, or when they worked the same shift performed duties in separate sections of the store. From the little Patrick managed to see of Mikey over the next couple of weeks, he gathered that he was fairly quiet, kept to himself, and was a bit awkward.

In talking to his coworkers, Patrick had heard Mikey attended Saint Joseph’s, the Catholic high school in town, which explained why Patrick had never seen him before. Mikey didn’t really look the role of a private school kid, though: his jeans were tight and low and he wore them with studded belts; his hair was definitely styled, but not in a way any other kid in town wore their hair; his t-shirts were threadbare and probably a size or two too-small. It wasn’t the preppy look that most of the Saint Joe’s students adhered to.

It wasn’t until Mikey wore a New London Fire shirt to work one Saturday that Patrick made up his mind to say something to him. He’d seen Mikey wear t-shirts promoting a plethora of Brit pop bands like The Smiths and Joy Division. It wasn’t Patrick’s favorite genre of music, but it was music nonetheless and some basis of common ground to start a conversation about, anyway.

When Mr. Rapple had sent Patrick outside to help corral grocery carts and return them to the store, Mikey was already in the parking lot, a gray hoodie on with the hood covering his head so only his bangs blew out of it in the breeze. He was wrestling with a cart that a customer had left on an embankment, one of its wheels jammed in a deep crack.

“So. New London Fire,” Patrick said from behind Mikey as he tugged on the cart again. “I’ve got I Sing the Body Holographic, but I guess they put out an EP after that, which I never got around to picking up. Do you have it?”

Mikey continued to tug on the cart, muttering a distinct “motherfucker” under his breath as he put his right foot on the cart to try to help leverage it out, but in no way made an effort to respond to Patrick’s question.

“Um. Do you need some help?” Patrick asked, leaning his weight to one side as he peered around Mikey to get a better view of the situation, his hands jammed deep in his front pockets.

“Fucking fuck, motherfucking fucker,” Mikey said more clearly now, continuing to ignore Patrick. He braced his left foot against the curb and heaved back again. With the extra force, the wheel came free from its position and the cart sprang backward as Mikey scuttled away to keep from getting slammed into.

Patrick’s eyes widened as he watched the scene unfold. He was about to ask Mikey if he was okay when Mikey reached up to scratch his head, his hand sliding under his hood and pushing it back far enough to reveal a white ear bud occupying Mikey’s right ear. Realizing Mikey hadn’t heard a word he said, Patrick shuffled off, hoping to avoid the embarrassment of anyone realizing he’d just attempted a conversation with someone who was completely oblivious to him.

As Patrick made his way to a cart a couple rows over, he looked back over his shoulder to where Mikey had paused in his task of returning the cart to pull an iPod out of his pocket, his finger moving over the wheel. _Interesting_ , he thought, and looked away just as Mikey caught his gaze. He made a mental note to bring his iPod to work for the next time he had parking-lot duty.

***

“So, have you talked to the new guy at work yet?” Pete asked as he sat down at the lunchroom table, swiping a French fry from Patrick’s tray.

“I was eating that,” Patrick mumbled, watching helplessly as Pete helped himself to another, dragging it through the ketchup before popping it into his mouth with a smile.

Pete swung his arm around Patrick’s shoulders. “Not that exact one,” he replied. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Well, I _tried_ to talk to him...,” Patrick started explaining.

“And were unsuccessful,” Andy supplied from across the table.

Joe looked up from where he was dunking his French fries in his chocolate shake before eating them. “How can you try to talk to someone and not be successful?” he wondered. “I mean, assuming you opened your mouth and words actually came out.”

Patrick rolled his eyes and slapped Pete’s hand away from the remainder of his food. “Okay, I talked to him but he didn’t hear me. Apparently he listens to his iPod when he’s returning carts to the store.”

“So talk to him when he’s _not_ returning carts to the store,” Pete answered simply.

Patrick turned and glared at his friend. “Thank you _so_ much for the advice,” he replied, his voice oozing sarcasm.

“You’re welcome,” Pete said happily, reaching around Patrick to snag another fry.

***

One week later, Patrick was sweeping up the aisles when he rounded the corner to find Mikey at the other end, methodically turning the cans one at a time so that the labels faced forward. Patrick stopped momentarily, watching as Mikey stood motionless, save for one hand that slowly rotated each can, his face devoid of expression.

Having worked at his job for a year and a half, Patrick worked quickly, pushing his broom in quick, definitive sweeps as he moved up the aisle. He kept his eyes squarely focused on Mikey though, hypnotized by his co-worker’s calculating demeanor. He couldn’t tell if Mikey was being indifferent or thorough.

When he was about ten feet from Mikey, Patrick stopped sweeping and stood up straight, but Mikey didn’t acknowledge his presence. “I noticed you were listening to your iPod out in the parking lot the other day,” he said at last. “Never thought to do that before.”

Mikey turned the can in his hand forward as he quickly glanced over toward Patrick. “Might as well enjoy myself while I’m working,” he replied, a hint of a smile in his lips.

“We haven’t met or whatever. I’m Patrick, by the way.” Patrick switched his broom to his left hand and offered his right to his co-worker.

Mikey stared down at Patrick’s hand for a moment before taking it and giving it a tentative shake. “Mikey,” he replied, his eyes meeting Patrick’s a brief moment before resuming his work. Behind his glasses, Mikey’s eyes were golden brown with flecks of green.

“You, um. You know you could do that faster if you used both hands, right?” Patrick asked as he watched Mikey slowly turning the cans once again.

The corner of Mikey’s mouth twitched up more this time as he managed a half-smile. “I could, but what’s the point? I mean, I get paid by the hour, right? If I finish faster, it’s not like I get paid more,” he answered with a quick shrug, his eyes following his hand. “I’m just given more work to do. Really, I just need to do enough not to get fired.”

Patrick opened his mouth to respond but hesitated before he could get the words out. Mikey was right, of course. It’s just that he’d never thought about it like that before. He’d always wanted to get his work done efficiently and do the best job possible. “Well, that’s... I mean, yeah. I guess.” Glancing down, Patrick pushed the broom around ineffectually as he tried to look busy. “So what kind of music do you listen to?” he asked weakly.

“Eh.” Mikey gave another quick shrug. “Good music,” he said, looking amused. “I listen to a little of this, a little of that. The Smiths and Muse and Smashing Pumpkins. Whatever. Some metal, some rap.” Mikey looked over to Patrick again as his hand hovered over another can. “You?”

Mimicking Mikey’s shrug, Patrick paused from his sweeping and stood up straight once more. “A little of everything, too. Mainly R&B and the blues, I guess, but I have jazz and hip-hop and punk and, yeah, a little bit of everything in my collection.”

“Sweet,” Mikey nodded. He opened his mouth to say something else when Mr. Rapple showed up in their line of vision.

“Stump. Way. Why don’t you both take your fifteen minute break now and then head up front to help at the checkout,” he said gruffly before heading off again.

Patrick nodded and picked his broom up before heading to the break room at the back of the store. The lounge area was fairly bare, consisting of a folding table and some chairs, a coffee pot, and a microwave. There was a small television in the corner, which Patrick usually zoned out watching during his breaks.

Mikey entered the break room behind him, but as Patrick went to take one of the chairs, he walked past, heading toward the back exit. Patrick’s eyes followed him, eyebrows raised inquisitively until Mikey paused at the door.

“I’m gonna have a smoke. You want to come?” he asked, procuring a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket.

Conversation with Mikey seemed better than watching whatever PGA tournament was currently airing on the ten-inch set, so Patrick set his broom against the wall and followed Mikey outside. The back door overlooked the loading dock and Mikey leaned against the metal railing as he dangled his cigarette in his lips and flicked his lighter.

“You want one?” Mikey gestured after he’d exhaled a lungful of smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

Patrick leaned his back against the railing and shook his head, looking up at the roof. “Nah, I’m edge,” he replied.

Mikey raised an eyebrow as he processed that and then took a long drag on his cigarette. “So you don’t use anything?” he asked. “You don’t smoke or drink or... whatever?”

“Nope,” Patrick answered, his elbows resting on the railing to support his weight.

“Huh.” Mikey seemed to think about it for a minute. “So, did you use to use and quit or something?”

“No,” Patrick replied again. “Never tried any of it.”

“Really,” Mikey said, sounding dubious. “Well, it can be fun sometimes.”

“I guess. It’s just not for me.” Patrick looked down and scuffed the toe of his shoe on the concrete landing. “So you go to St. Joseph’s?” he asked in an attempt to casually change the subject.

Mikey snorted as he inhaled again on his cigarette, coughing twice as he nodded. “Yeah. It’s awesome,” he said, his voice laden with sarcasm.

Patrick looked Mikey over, his too-tight jeans and thin shirt and hoodie. His hair was plastered to the sides of his head with his bangs clustered together in sharp points that hung under the frames of his glasses. “No offense, but you don’t really look like a private school kid,” he said carefully.

Mikey snorted again. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied as he exhaled another drag and flicked the ashes over the railing.

“Um, you’re welcome?” Patrick replied, shoving a finger up under the brim of his hat to scratch at his head.

Mikey sighed, looking around the docks. “A lot of my classmates are rich douche bags who don’t care or talk about anything much more than how to spend their parents money. I’m not rich. I’m not planning on going to an Ivy League school. I don’t really fit in.” He shrugged as though it didn’t bother him.

“I don’t really fit in either,” Patrick offered. “I mean, I do. I’m not like an outcast or anything. But I just have some different interests from my classmates or whatever.”

“Yeah?” Mikey said, arching an eyebrow. “Like what?”

Patrick raised one shoulder. “Oh, well, like the music thing. I like music, but I listen to some stuff that I guess isn’t very mainstream, so like no one at school would know it. And I keep my music on vinyl mostly. I’m not all into tech stuff, like everyone else is.”

“Seriously?” Mikey laughed. “I think records are badass. I wish I had a turntable.”

“Well, the sound quality is better,” Patrick said without hesitation. He stopped himself before he launched into his critique of the audio compromise that occurred when converting music to digital form.

Mikey grinned, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Yeah, well, I’m a comic book nerd and a video game nerd and I like 80s movies.”

“Dude,” Patrick exclaimed, turning to face Mikey. “I love 80s movies, too. The best movie of all time?”

“Ghostbusters,” they replied at the same time.

Patrick smiled wide. “Right on, right on,” he said, nodding. “My second favorite has got to be Back to the Future.”

“Love it,” Mikey quipped. “One of the best ever.” He was quiet a moment, squinting up at the sky. “So, that guy who comes in here all the time to see you while you’re working. Is that your boyfriend?”

“Who? Pete?” Patrick sputtered. “No. No, no, no, no,” he replied decisively, before chuckling. “No, Pete and I are friends. Good friends, but just friends.”

Mikey furrowed his brow and nodded slowly. “Oh, alright. Just wondering. I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.”

Patrick shook his head firmly. “No, it’s cool. It’s cool. I’m not offended,” he assured Mikey. “Pete is kind of... overly familiar with his friends, I guess, so it’s not like the first time someone’s asked or anything. He’s got a girlfriend, actually.”

“Ah,” Mikey nodded, returning a cautious smile.

“Seriously,” Patrick added as Mikey took one final drag on his cigarette before flicking it onto the ground below. They stood on the landing one more moment, before Patrick checked his watch. “Looks like break time is over,” he sighed, pulling open the door for Mikey.

“We’ll have to do this again sometime,” Mikey grinned as he made his way through the room and back into the store. “Next time we can discuss the merits of the 80s sequel movies.”

“You realize that’s going to get us off on a tangent about the Star Wars trilogy, right?” Patrick asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” Mikey said as they returned to work.

***

Over the next few weeks, Patrick and Mikey began an easy friendship, which centered around their mutual love of all things geeky, even if they had somewhat different interests. Patrick spent one break singing the praises of a Technics turntable while Mikey discussed the dynamics of the relationship between Cable and Deadpool.

“You’ve never played a Playstation?” Mikey asked one day, sounding personally affronted at the concept.

“No?” Patrick replied, his eyes darting from side to side as he wondered why it was a big deal.

Mikey crossed his arms and let out a disapproving breath. “What, you don’t like video games?” he asked, as though the idea were foreign to him.

“I like video games,” Patrick offered, frowning. “I just don’t play a lot? I mean, I never bothered to get one at home cuz I spent most of my time and money on my music collection or actually playing guitar and stuff. I’ve played video games.”

Mikey narrowed his eyes as he looked down the length of his nose at Patrick. “Yeah? What video games?” he demanded.

Patrick laughed at how seriously Mikey appeared to be taking the situation. “Uh, I’ve played some games on Joe’s Nintendo, I guess. Actually, I’m pretty amazing at Mario Kart.”

Mikey blinked and then slumped slightly, dropping his face into his hand. “Oh, Patrick,” he moaned.

“What?” Patrick laughed. “Is there something wrong with Mario Kart?”

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Mikey answered, shaking his head sadly. “This needs to be remedied, and I think I’m the person to do it. What are you doing this weekend?”

Patrick widened his eyes as he saw the determined look in Mikey’s eyes. “Playing video games with you?” he replied slowly.

“Exactly,” Mikey said, satisfied. “I have Sunday off if you want to come over? I’ll introduce you to the world of Halo.”

Patrick shrugged because he could think of worse things to do on his weekend. “Yeah, that’d be cool,” he agreed, not really sure what he was getting himself into.

***

The Way home was not in the area up the hill where most of the kids who attended St. Joseph’s lived — the money in town was clustered in that area, known by the population as ‘Snob Nob.’ Instead, Mikey’s family lived in the flats like most of Patrick’s friends. Their house wasn’t terribly large and had a brick facade with curtains closed tight over the windows.

The inside of the home was clean, if a bit cluttered. Stacks of magazines and newspapers were stashed in corners and knick knacks lined the fireplace mantle. A large ashtray sat in the center of the kitchen table, where Mrs. Way tapped a cigarette against the edge while idly flipping through a magazine.

Like Mikey, Mrs. Way didn’t fit in with Patrick’s preconceived notion of what St. Joseph’s students and families looked like; her hair was bleached and teased and her manicured fingernails were three times as long as his own mother had ever worn hers. Still, when Mikey introduced her as Patrick shuffled through the kitchen, she looked up from her reading and flashed him a warm smile, telling Patrick to make himself at home and help himself to anything in the fridge.

“My mom’s pretty laid back,” Mikey explained as they made their way out of earshot, Patrick following behind as Mikey led him down the hall to his room. They passed a door that had several sketches tacked up on it. Patrick could tell from a glance the work was good and assumed it was Mikey’s older brother’s room. Mikey had mentioned Gerard several times before, and Patrick knew he was away at art school.

Mikey’s room was like the rest of the house, except instead of magazines or newspapers stacked in his room, there were comic books. He didn’t have knickknacks lining his walls; instead, he had an assortment of action figures from comics and movies, most still in their original packaging. The one thing that was exactly the same was the large ashtray sitting on Mikey’s desk.

“My mom’s pretty laid back,” Mikey repeated when he caught Patrick’s eyes studying it and the cluster of cigarette butts it contained.

Nodding, Patrick turned his focus back to looking around the room. “That’s cool,” he replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. He shifted his weight from side to side, uncertain of where to sit.

As if on cue, Mikey, straightened the covers of his unmade bed and gestured at Patrick. “You can sit here,” he offered. “I changed the sheets just a few days, ago. I swear.” He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Patrick pulled his hands from his pockets and sat down on the edge of the bed, his palms flat on the mattress as Mikey walked over to flip on the tv set across from his bed. As Mikey bent down to flip on his Playstation, the already low waist of his jeans fell to expose a couple inches of the top of Mikey’s briefs. Patrick dropped his eyes to his lap where he quickly folded his hands, picking at his fingernails.

“Here,” Mikey said, pulling his attention back. Looking up, Patrick found Mikey offering him a controller. He took it as Mike turned back to the television, making selections on the menu that shown on the screen before crossing his legs and lowering himself to the floor next to Patrick’s feet.

“So, the goal is, you have to kill all these alien things,” Mikey explained. “But first you have to make a character, unless you want to use one of the ones me and Gee already made.”

“Uh…” Patrick blinked at the screen as Mikey scrolled through a myriad of avatars, flipping through the controller to change color and symbols on the uniforms and the types of weapons they used.

“You better make your own,” Mikey decided. “You’ll feel more connected to it if it represents you.”

“Uh,” Patrick repeated, chuckling. “Okay.” They spent the next half hour putting together a character for Patrick with Mikey offering his input. By the time they’d finished, Patrick’s head was swimming.

Mikey then shuffled through a few screens. “Okay, so now for the play,” he stated and then gave Patrick a litany of instructions involving which buttons to push to make which actions happen.

Patrick ran his thumbs over the dozen buttons on the controller, ignoring what Mikey was talking about on the screen. “Uh, there are like a million buttons on here,” he informed Mikey. “How am I supposed to figure this all out?”

Tilting his head up to look back at Patrick, Mikey grinned. “You’ll figure it out,” he answered simply before turning back to the screen and starting the game.

“You know, that’s not very reassuring.” And it wasn’t. The millions of buttons controlled way more actions than Patrick thought a video game should allow a player to control and Patrick found his avatar moving one direction as it “looked” in a different direction. Consequently, he could never see what was ahead of him. Meanwhile, aliens were popping out and blasting their weapons at him.

“Dude,” Mikey laughed after a moment. Patrick glanced down at him to see Mikey watching as he played before quickly returning his eyes to the screen to try to ward off another attack. “You know that when you move your head, it doesn’t change the direction your guy looks, right?” Mikey informed him. “That’s what this control is for.” He jabbed his finger at Patrick’s controller.

Patrick glanced down momentarily before pushing Mikey’s hand away. “Shut up,” he mumbled, tilting his head to the side in a vain effort to get his avatar to look in that direction too.

“And playing with your mouth open doesn’t actually help you do any better,” Mikey added smugly as Patrick closed his mouth, pressing his lips together in concentration.

They continued on with play, Patrick dying in rapid succession.

“You seriously suck at this,” Mikey informed him.

“Hey!” Patrick laughed, kicking ineffectually at Mikey as Mikey leaned away. “It doesn’t look like you’re really all that great either.”

Mikey grinned, biting his lip as he blew up another alien. “I’m not,” he admitted. “But compared to you I’m fucking awesome, which says a lot about your skills.”

“Shut up!” Patrick laughed again. “I just learned how to play! You, on the other hand, have the game in your room and can play it all the fucking time!” He kicked at Mikey again, but instead of leaning away, this time Mikey dropped his controller and grabbed Patrick’s foot, tickling it.

Screeching, Patrick twisted and tried to pull his foot away from Mikey’s grip, but Mikey just clamped his arm around Patrick’s leg and continued tickling. Patrick stood up and tried to move away, but Mikey’s grip was tight and he ended up tripping and falling to the floor instead, laughing in fits.

“God damn it!” he gasped between body-shaking laughs. “Stop it! Stop it!” He twisted again and Mikey let go, allowing him to slide his foot away and scoot himself up to a seated position on the floor. Patrick clenched his hands into fists and held them up defensively as he narrowed his eyes at Mikey, still smiling. “Don’t try that again,” he warned.

Mikey’s face was wide in a smile as his own laughter subsided. “No, I won’t,” he promised. “At least, not now while you’re expecting it.” Reaching up, he cleared a strand of hair that had fallen in his eye. “You’re really ticklish.”

“You’re not?” Patrick asked, reaching one hand out toward Mikey, as Mikey leaned away from his touch. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Patrick smirked. “So are you going to sit here and insult my lack of skill or are we going to keep playing so I can kick your ass?” He pulled himself around so he was sitting with his back propped up against Mikey’s bed and picked up his controller once again.

Mikey followed suit, scooting back into position next to Patrick, his knees pulled up to his chest. As Mikey took possession of his controller again, his shoulder knocked against Patrick’s. Mikey sucked his lip into his mouth and glanced over at Patrick quickly before re-starting the game.

They continued playing the rest of the afternoon with Patrick making no visible improvement – not that he’d admit it. Whenever Mikey began to mock his play, Patrick would just start speaking in a loud impersonation of Christopher Walken. They finally gave up play when Mikey was laughing so hard he had tears rolling down his cheeks and was doubled over, clutching his sides.

“Mikey Way. Mikey Way. Are you okay? Do I need to call 911?” Patrick asked, still in character as Christopher Walken.

“Stop it, stop it!” Mikey cried, gasping for air as he removed his glasses and wiped at his eyes. When he’d finally regained his composure, Mikey took a deep breath and put his glasses back on, smiling at Patrick. “You’re pretty fucking funny.”

“Dude, Christopher Walken is funny. I just do an impression of an impression of him,” Patrick explained, brushing off the compliment.

Mikey looked at Patrick for a long moment in silence, a small smile still in place. “Whatever you say,” he said at last, crawling over to his bookshelf and flipping through DVD cases. “Should we watch Pulp Fiction?” he asked, holding up a copy of the movie.

“Uh, do I get to recite Walken’s speech about hiding a watch up his ass?” Patrick grinned.

“Duh,” Mikey said, putting the movie in the player.

***

“srsly u really do suck at halo.” Patrick read the text message on his phone as he was getting ready for bed that night and grinned.

Hitting the reply button, he typed out his response: Pretty sure Im not the only one on our team who was sucking.

A minute later, Patrick’s phone chimed again: Were like the bad news bears of halo.

“Lovable losers? Or driving Walter Matthau to drink?” Patrick tapped out before pressing ‘send.’

The electronic strains of Patrick’s ringtone started up as the name “MWay” appeared on Patrick’s screen. He pressed the button to answer and held the phone up to his ear.

“Walter Matthau was an alcoholic before he started coaching,” Mikey said, dispensing with any sort of greeting.

Patrick laughed as he lay back on his bed. “Oh, right. Sorry, I haven’t seen that movie since I was, like, eight. So we’re losers then, is what you’re saying?”

“Lovable losers,” Mikey corrected. “Losers who learn important lessons about what matters in life and eventually go to Japan.”

“Oh, fuck, they totally did,” Patrick grinned. “I forgot about that.” He pulled off his glasses and set them on the table next to his bed as he rubbed his eyes. “Going to Japan would be pretty awesome.”

“I don’t think there’s any shame in forgetting about the third Bad News Bears film. It’s probably for the best. But Japan would be amazing,” Mikey sighed.

“Think of the turntables I could get over there,” Patrick gasped. Mikey let out a high-pitch laugh on the other end of the phone. “What?” Patrick demanded.

“Nothing,” Mikey lied. Patrick waited for him to continue. “Just… you have a one track mind and it’s not the track that most teenage boys are on.”

“Oh, right.” Patrick paused, uncertain what to say to that. “Is that a bad thing?”

“I don’t think so,” Mikey replied thoughtfully. “It makes me curious about your record collection, though. Not gonna lie.”

Patrick glanced over at his shelves of records and his stereo system and grinned. “Well, you should definitely come over sometime and check it out.”

“Well, I’m not going to invite myself,” Mikey hinted.

“Mikey,” Patrick said in his most serious voice. “Would you like to come over sometime and check on my collection of vinyl and listen to some tunes?”

Mikey made an amused humming noise before responding. “I’d love to.”

“Cool. When are you working next weekend?”

After making plans for Mikey to hang out, they chatted about inane things until Patrick found himself waking up to a stream of sunlight pouring in his bedroom window, his dead cellphone next to his head on his pillow and a kink in his neck.

***

Patrick was digging through the stack of books in his locker when he felt familiar hands pressing down on his shoulders. “Hey, Pete,” he said without turning around.

“Patrick! Hey, I haven’t seen you in forever,” Pete exclaimed before leaning against the locker adjacent to Patrick’s.

Patrick looked over at his friend, narrowing his eyes. “I saw you two hours ago at lunch,” he reminded him.

“Well, yeah. But we haven’t gotten to, like, do something outside of school for a while,” Pete pouted. “What are you doing this weekend? I mean, besides working. Do you want to come over and watch movies?”

“Well, actually, you stopped by work last weekend and harassed me, remember?” Patrick tucked his physics textbook under his arm and closed his locker door before turning to head off to class. “Uh, this weekend Mikey’s gonna come over and check out my record collection.” Pete slowed his step until Patrick had to stop and turn around. “What?” Patrick demanded.

“Nothing,” Pete grinned. “Just that showing him your record collection? Sounds pretty serious,” he teased.

Patrick rolled his eyes and turned around, shaking his head as Pete jogged to catch up with him. “It’s not like that,” he sighed.

“Not like what?” Pete asked.

“You’re still my best friend,” Patrick reassured Pete. “Just because Mikey and I hung out last weekend and we’re doing something this weekend doesn’t mean you and I aren’t best friends anymore. I like him, okay? He gets my sense of humor and I get his. We both like kind of dorky things and... I don’t know. We have fun, I guess.”

Pete arched his eyebrows, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “And he’s cute, too,” he offered.

Patrick furrowed his brow, shooting a glance over to Pete. “Whatever,” he said dismissively. “I don’t pay attention to that stuff.”

“It’s okay,” Pete chirped. “I pay enough attention for the both of us.” He clamped his hand down on Patrick’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze as he slowed to a stop. As Patrick turned to face him, he noted the genuine look on Pete’s face. “Just so long as we stay best friends,” Pete said, giving a nod.

“Nothing will ever change that,” Patrick assured him, and he meant it. “Anyway, I’m sure Ashlee appreciates having her boyfriend to herself from time to time.”

Pete chuckled, turning to bump his shoulder against Patrick’s. “Actually, she misses having your judgment around. You can usually talk me out of some of the dumber ideas I get,” he admitted.

Patrick couldn’t help but laugh. “True. This is why I have to be your best friend forever, right? Where would you be without me?”

Pete narrowed his eyes as he looked up, sucking in his lower lip in thought. “Probably wearing a mustache made of my own pubic hair and jumping off my roof with a patio umbrella.”

“You’ve done both those things,” Patrick reminded him.

“Yeah,” Pete grinned. “But not at the same time.”

***

Patrick knew he had a lot of records, but he would forget how absurd his collection was until someone saw it for the first time. He was reminded as Mikey gawked at the shelves lining his walls, running his fingers over the albums and occasionally pulling one out to inspect the cover art. “How’d you get all of these? This is insane.”

Patrick stood with his arms folded over his chest as he watched Mikey. “My dad gave me a bunch to start out with and the rest I’ve picked up over the last four years or so. Most of my paycheck goes to buying records,” he shrugged. “I’m supposed to be putting some money aside for college too, but, eh.”

Mikey pulled the jacket of _Purple Rain_ from Patrick’s collection and held it between the palms of his hands as he studied it. “Awesome,” Mikey decided, looking over to Patrick and grinning.

“You want to listen to it?” Patrick moved forward and gingerly took the album from Mikey’s hands, pulling the record from the sleeve and placing it on his turntable. A moment after setting the needle down, the opening notes of “Let’s Go Crazy,” started up.

Mikey let out a laugh. “I don’t know anyone else our age who’s as into Prince as you seem to be, judging from your collection here.”

“Dude, are you laughing at Prince,” Patrick asked in his most serious tone. “Prince is fucking amazing, okay? And if you don’t think so, you’re welcome to get the fuck out of my room.” He narrowed his eyes at Mikey in a mock glare and Mikey put his hands up in surrender.

“No, no! I’m not laughing!” Mikey said, laughing again. “I mean, I am, but I’m just saying it’s different. It’s cool that you’re into all this stuff. It’s not that I think the music is bad or anything.” As if to emphasize his point, Mikey began nodding his head in time to the music, his eyes closing as he got into the groove of it, moving slightly from side to side.

Patrick watched Mikey dancing, his eyes widening slightly. Mikey didn’t seem like the dancing type; his lean limbs seemed kind of gangly most of the time, toes and knees turning inward. But he looked comfortable like this, not self-conscious at all.

Lost in his staring, it took Patrick a moment to realize Mikey had opened his eyes and was watching him back. “What, you think I’m a freak for dancing?” Mikey asked, arching an eyebrow at Patrick.

“No, no,” Patrick stammered, his cheeks reddening slightly. “I, uh. Your hair,” he said quickly. “It’s sort of all over the place and it moves a lot when you do.” He gestured at Mikey’s coif, which was teased up and curled into standing on top of his head with his bangs coming to a point in the middle of his forehead.

Mikey reached up and ran his finger over the strand of hair that hung between his eyes. “Oh, I see,” he grinned. “You think my hair is weird? What’s up with your facial hair, Mr. Stump?” Mikey moved forward, reaching out his hand to touch Patrick’s cheek.

Patrick stumbled back a couple steps, raising a hand to fend off Mikey’s touch. “What about my sideburns?” he laughed.

“Nothing,” Mikey said, his eyes fixated on Patrick’s face. “They’re just a little…” He trailed off, biting his lip as he watched Patrick with raised eyebrows.

“A little what?” Patrick demanded, running his hand over one side of his face defensively.

Mikey was obviously trying not to smile or laugh, his facial features fraught with tension. “A little out of control,” he finished.

Patrick snorted and rolled his eyes. “You think? I haven’t bothered to do anything with them in two years,” he replied. “I’m too lazy to mess with them, I guess.” He shrugged and let out a sigh. “You think I should lose them?” he wondered.

Mikey shook his head quickly. “Nope. I think they suit you.” Reaching up, Mikey ran his hand through the mess of hair on his head. “I’m just saying, don’t be calling _my_ hair weird.”

“Fair enough,” Patrick conceded.

They spent the afternoon playing songs from different albums, with Patrick talking excitedly about why certain albums were important and why certain artists were his favorites. Mikey agreed to give everything a shot, including the experimental jazz, which he listened to for an admirable amount of time without making a face.

Eventually, they ended up lying on Patrick’s floor in companionable silence as the music filled the room. Mikey drummed the fingers of one hand in time with the music and gently swayed his foot from side to side, as Patrick hummed along or sang softly when the urge overtook him.

“You have a nice voice,” Mikey said after a time.

Patrick jerked his head to the side to look at Mikey, unaware of how much he’d been singing. “Uh, me? No, not really,” he shrugged. “It’s okay, nothing special.”

“Sure,” Mikey said, sounding disbelieving.

Patrick pushed himself up on his elbows and looked down at Mikey. “What?” he demanded.

Mikey shook his head slightly, his eyes fixated on some point on the ceiling. “Nothing,” he sighed.

Patrick lay back down, trying to focus on the music again. “What?” he repeated a minute later.

“Nothing,” Mikey chuckled.

“No, seriously,” Patrick insisted. “What are you thinking? Because obviously it’s not nothing.”

Mikey smiled wide, glancing over at Patrick. “It’s nothing!” he insisted.

“It’s not!” Patrick argued, playfully swinging his hand over to hit Mikey’s arm.

“Ow!” Mikey cried, acting as though Patrick’s half-hearted blow had actually hurt him.

“Oh my god,” Patrick laughed. “You’re such a baby!”

Mikey pursed his lips and glared over at Patrick. “Hey, I’m tough,” he argued, flexing his arm to show off his bicep. “Don’t call me a baby.”

Patrick swallowed a laugh. “Baby,” he said under his breath.

“Hey now,” Mikey said, louder. “I am _not_ a baby.” He flexed his arm again to drive home the point. “Feel this arm. I’m like Popeye with this thing.”

Laughing, Patrick obediently reached over and squeezed Mikey’s arm as he flexed the muscle. “Impressive,” he said in a flat voice.

“Shut up,” Mikey laughed. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Patrick raised his eyebrows and pushed himself back up to a seated position, pulling his arm across his chest and flexing it dramatically, his fist facing out.

Mikey sat up as well, and crawled over to Patrick on his knees, reaching out to squeeze his arm, his mouth quirked up in a half smile. “Nice,” he said in a low voice, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Now _you_ shut up,” Patrick laughed, pulling his arm away.

“See!” Mikey exclaimed. “This is what you do. You are always dismissing any compliment you get and you act like you’re nothing special. Stop doing that!”

Patrick frowned as he studied Mikey, trying to assess if he was being serious. “No, I don’t,” he said.

Mikey rolled his eyes. “Sure,” he said as he had earlier, indicating he didn’t believe Patrick at all.

“Maybe a little,” Patrick begrudgingly admitted.

Mikey shook his head. “You know, you _do_ have a nice voice. And people _may_ actually be interested in you. Stop putting yourself down.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Patrick sighed. “I remember Pete saying something along those lines to me.”

“See?” Mikey sank back down to the ground. “You totally need to stop that.”

Patrick nodded, getting up to change records. “I’ll try,” he murmured, returning the Curtis Mayfield album back to its sleeve. “What do you want to listen to next?”

***

Given Pete’s concerns about not hanging out as much, Patrick wanted to make sure that they got together at some point over the weekend. He invited Pete to go with him that Sunday afternoon to browse for records, something he usually did alone. As they wandered around the store, Pete would hold up an occasional record for Patrick to give his assessment of, even though Pete didn’t own a record player of his own.

Patrick picked out a few albums and took them over to the counter to pay. As he was standing in line to pay, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror that hung on the wall behind the register.

“Jesus,” he mumbled, running his hand under his hat to brush a few stray strands back. His clothes were wrinkled from where he’d left them in the dryer overnight and a stubborn stain from marinara sauce clung to his t-shirt. “I look like a bum. Why’d you let me leave the house looking like this?”

Pete looked up from where he was paging through a copy of Rolling Stone. “What? Shut up, you look awesome,” he replied before returning his focus back to the magazine.

“No, seriously,” Patrick insisted. He started to elaborate, but stopped himself, instead taking his change from the cashier and tucking the albums under his arm before heading out of the store.

As Pete pushed through the door behind him, Patrick asked, “Do I do that a lot? Like, put myself down? Mikey mentioned something about it yesterday.”

Pete looked over at Patrick, raising an eyebrow. “He did?” he asked, sounding intrigued. “Yeah, you totally do. You need to knock it off, too. You’re awesome and everyone should think so.” Pete dug his keychain from his pocket, heading around to the driver’s side of his car and unlocking the door.

“Yeah, he said I’m always brushing off compliments and acting like I’m nothing special,” Patrick said with a grimace. “He told me I need to stop doing that."

Pete paused as he was opening the door. “Mikey sounds like a good guy,” he said at last.

Pulling open his own door, Patrick nodded. “He is,” he agreed.

***

“So,” Mikey started, one day at work. “There’s this party Friday night. A bunch of St. Joe’s kids. You wanna come?” Mikey was busy rearranging the boxes of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, pulling them to the front of the shelf, so Patrick couldn’t read his expression.

“Uh, seriously?” Patrick chuckled. “You want me to go hang out with a bunch of stuck-up private school kids?” It wasn’t really his scene. Parties in general weren’t really his scene, especially ones where he didn’t know the majority of attendants. Socializing with strangers was not high on Patrick’s list of things to do.

Mikey glanced over to where Patrick was re-shelving boxes of pasta and rolled his eyes. “No, not with a bunch of stuck-up private school kids,” he replied. “With a bunch of cool people who have to suffer through their private school education like I do. And some other random kids too, probably.” Mikey resumed moving around the boxes and gave a half-hearted shrug. “It’s not a big deal or anything. I was just wondering if you wanted to meet some of my friends.”

“No! I mean, yeah. Of course I want to meet your friends,” Patrick tried to explain. “I mean, if they’re your friends, they have to be cool, too. Right? I just… I don’t know. I guess I feel a little weird about hanging out with strangers, you know?” Taking a deep breath, he nodded his head a few times. “But yeah, I’ll go. Sure.” He wasn’t entirely convinced it was a good idea, but he genuinely liked Mikey and liked hanging out with him. It couldn’t hurt to meet other people like him.

Mikey hummed in thought. “Well, if it would make you feel more comfortable, why don’t you bring some of your friends with?” he suggested. “It’s not like there’s a guest list at the door or anything. Bring Pete and his girlfriend and whoever else. The more the merrier.”

“Really?” Patrick relaxed slightly at the suggestion. There was still the anxiety of a social obligation to deal with, but it would be a lot easier if he had a group of people he felt comfortable with to hang around as opposed to just Mikey. “Yeah, that would be cool. Thanks, man. And thanks for asking me.” He gave Mikey a smile, which Mikey mirrored.

***

Once Mikey had filled Patrick in on the rest of the details of the party – the location and the approximate time, although being late was always the better move – Patrick talked to his group of friends to see if anyone else would be interested in going to a party of St. Joe’s kids. After the initial faces were made and Patrick explained that it was Mikey’s friends who’d be there, he got Pete to agree to come with Ashlee, as well as Joe, Andy, and Matt.

Mikey had said that the party would start at 8-ish, so of course they came at 10. They’d squeezed into Andy’s mom’s mini-van and drove to a house in Snob Nob. “This doesn’t seem promising,” Andy had mumbled when they turned down a street with homes that had four-car garages.

“Mikey says it’s not the snobby kids,” Patrick reminded him, hoping it was true.

“Hey,” Pete piped up from the back. “My parents have a nice house. Doesn’t mean I’m an asshole.”

“And yet, you are,” Joe quipped, a hazy smile on his face.

Laughing, Pete gave Joe a friendly push on the head. “And you still hang out with me,” he reminded Joe.

“Indeed, I do.”

Andy pulled the van up to the curb down the street from the apparent location of the party, evident by the cluster of cars surrounding it. They weren’t BMWs and Jaguars, so Patrick figured that was a good sign. They could hear the music coming from the house as they made their way up the drive, which was also a good sign.

Pete pushed through the door first, flanked by Ashlee. Patrick stood at the back of their group, shifting from side to side as he waited for everyone to file in. As he entered the house, he saw through a haze of smoke a lot of kids dressed in black drinking from plastic cups. The distinctive odor of pot hung in the air and Joe immediately raised his nose and made a beeline toward the living room, where it seemed to be emanating from.

“Awesome,” he said to himself as he abandoned the group, apparently having no qualms about making himself at home with a group of strangers so long as those strangers were also stoners.

The kids in the house were grouped together in clusters and Patrick craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Mikey somewhere. He found him as he moved toward the back of the house, leaning against a counter in the kitchen and talking animatedly to a few other guys. Mikey was holding a plastic cup in his hand and laughing, his head tossed back and mouth opened, over something the big, blond guy had said.

“Hey,” Patrick said as he approached, the word coming out somewhat breathy from the nerves he felt.

Mikey turned at the sound of Patrick’s voice, his smile falling for a moment as a look of shock overtook his countenance. “Hey!” he shouted back, his eyebrows rising and the smile returning. “I didn’t think you were coming!”

Mikey turned toward the other three, who were looking at Patrick and his group with mild interest. “This is Patrick, the guy I told you about,” he explained to his friends, waving his free hand in Patrick’s direction. Turning back toward Patrick, Mikey introduced them. The big, blond on was Bob, the guy with the crazy, curly hair was Ray, and the one who was the same size as Patrick was Frank.

“Hey,” Patrick said, nodding at each of them. He turned and made a quick introduction of his friends, sans Joe.

Bob grabbed a stack of plastic cups from the counter and turned toward the keg that sat at his side, preparing to pour drinks when Patrick stopped him.

“No thanks, man,” he said, waving him off. “We’re all edge.”

Bob stared at the group for a long moment. “Seriously?” he said at last.

Patrick glanced at Mikey and then over to his friends and then back to Bob before answering. “Seriously.” He had a moment of panic, wondering if coming to the party had been such a good idea after all.

Bob gave a shrug that read “whatever” and replied, “That’s cool.”

“More beer for us,” Frank said with a smile, holding out his cup for Bob to top off.

The group stood around awkwardly for a few moments before Ray pointed at Andy’s Metallica shirt and commented on it, which sent them off into a discussion about 80s hair bands. Frank and Pete compared tattoo work while Bob and Matt talked football, with Ashlee weighing in on her opinion about the Rangers’ defense.

“So, you really didn’t think I’d come?” Patrick teased Mikey after the group separated into individual conversations. “What, like I’d say I’d do something and not follow through? What kind of friend do you think I am?” He gave Mikey a smile so he’d know it was just good - natured teasing.

Mikey returned Patrick’s smile, shrugging. “I don’t know. Sometimes people flake,” he replied, tugging on the hem of his shirt. He chewed on his lip like he did sometimes when he was thinking and looked at the ground. After a moment, Mikey looked up at Patrick, meeting his eyes. “We are friends, right?”

Patrick furrowed his brow as he held Mikey’s look. “Yeah,” he said confidently. “Yeah, I think so. I mean, I consider you a friend.” He frowned, confused at what Mikey was getting at. “Why? Do you think we’re not?”

Mikey looked off into the distance and shook his head. “I do,” he agreed. “I just didn’t know what you thought.”

Patrick looked from side to side, feeling like he was missing an important part of the conversation. Then again, Mikey had been drinking and doing who knows what else, so maybe this was how he got when he was messed up. “Uh, okay,” he replied, deciding to let it drop. “Where’s the bathroom at in here, anyway?”

Mikey leaned forward and gestured around a group standing next to them. “It’s over—“ Mikey dropped his hand, his shoulders slumping. “Here,” he sighed, gesturing at Patrick to follow him as he headed that way. “Follow me.”

Patrick followed along closely after Mikey as he slid through the crowd of people in the room. He held on to the corner of Mikey’s shirt so as not to lose him. When they emerged from the sea of people, they were at the landing to the staircase and Patrick followed as Mikey jogged up the stairs.

Mikey led Patrick to the end of the hall upstairs where a crowd of people stood, waiting in line for the bathroom. Turning to the door across the hall from the bathroom, Mikey knocked a couple times loudly and then opened the door. The bedroom was dark, but empty as Patrick followed him inside.

“This way” Mikey said, the moonlight reflecting off his glasses as he turned back toward Patrick. “I don’t think anyone knows this bathroom is here. I found it by accident at a party last year.” Mikey walked across the room and pushed open another door before flicking the light on inside.

“Thanks, man,” Patrick replied brushing past Mikey as he entered the bathroom.

When he emerged, the bedroom was still dark and Mikey was gone. Patrick headed back down the hall to go downstairs and spotted Mikey standing in the doorway of another room, one arm propping him against the door frame as he looked inside, listening to someone.

“What’s up?” Patrick asked as he reached Mikey.

Looking back over his shoulder, Mikey noticed Patrick and shifted his position so he was no longer blocking the doorway. “They’re going to do a purity test,” he answered, rolling his eyes and smiling.

“Purity test?” Patrick raised his eyebrows, not sure what that was.

“You’ve never taken one?” Mikey asked, looking incredulous. “Seriously?” Stepping away from door, he put a hand on Patrick’s shoulder and pushed him forward into the room. “You should take one at least once.”

Patrick looked around the room of half dozen kids with paper and pens, sitting on the floor. “What is it?” he hissed back at Mikey.

“It’s just for fun. You answer questions about stuff you’ve done and it tells you how pure you are,” Mikey explained, shaking his head. “Like, if you haven’t done anything illegal or fooled around or drank or whatever, you’d be, like, completely pure or something. But if you drink and smoke but you’ve never kissed anyone, you’d be like eighty percent pure,” he tried to explain. “It’s stupid, but you should still do it,” Mikey urged, taking a paper and a pen from someone. “Just follow the directions.”

Patrick looked around confused but shrugged and sat down with everyone as a guy started explaining the test and how it was scored. Basically, the guy read off a bunch of things a person could have done, like shoplifting or smoking and for each thing you’d done, you made a mark on your paper. When the test was over, you added all the marks together and after a simple math equation, you had a percentage score telling you how pure you were.

The first group of questions had to do with lying and cheating and shoplifting and the like. Patrick made his checkmarks in the appropriate places. When they got to the questions on drug and alcohol use, he sat there and watched as everyone else made checks, feeling very out of place. The last section had to do with sex, and there were separate categories for things you’d done with someone of the opposite sex and for things you’d done with someone of the same sex.

Patrick hesitated. He had known for a long time that he was interested in both girls and guys, but it wasn’t something he really broadcasted about himself. He wasn’t particularly experienced, either, but he’d fooled around with a few people, both female and male. He hadn’t gone all the way with anyone, but he’d gone far enough that he’d acquired more than a couple checkmarks on his page. Not wanting to publicize it, he surreptitiously kept from making marks through questions about things he’d done with members of the same sex and then made double marks on the things he’d done with members of the opposite sex.

When he’d finished his test, Patrick added his marks up and followed the equation the guy gave them and figured out his percentage. He scored a fifty-eight percent, which he wasn’t sure if he should be proud of are appalled by; he supposed it depended on who he told.

Getting up to leave, Patrick noted that Mikey was no longer in the room. He figured Mikey had returned to the kitchen so he headed downstairs again. Fighting his way back through the living room (where he noticed Joe sitting on a loveseat surrounded by two guys with really long legs who were really stoned), Patrick found his friends where he’d left them.

“You’d really love her,” Ashlee was saying to Bob. “Greta’s cute but she’s just _fun_ and I think you two would look so good together.” Pete had his arm wrapped around Ashlee’s waist and was nodding along in agreement while Bob looked back and forth between them with his eyes wide open, like he was about to be fed to the lions.

“Hey,” Mikey’s voice said in his ear, and Patrick whirled around to find Mikey standing there with a fresh cup of beer and a content smile on his face. “You returned.”

“Can we get some fresh air?” Patrick begged, not wanting to get involved in the kind of conversation Bob was being ambushed with. “It’s kind of warm in here.”

Mikey smiled wider. “Yeah, absolutely,” he replied before ambling off toward the back of the house. They reached a patio door and Mikey had to turn the handle several times and bang his shoulder against the door before finally getting it open.

The weather outside was warm, but it felt about fifteen degrees cooler than it did in the house and Patrick took in a deep breath as he closed the door behind himself. The backyard was largely empty and the thumping bass line from the stereo and the din of voices inside the house was muffled sufficiently out there so a person could have a conversation without shouting.

“Much better,” Patrick sighed, lifting his hat from his head a moment to run his hand over his hair, letting the cooler air hit his scalp.

Mikey stumbled down a pebbled path through the landscaping in the backyard. “Are you having fun or is it as bad as you thought it would be?” he wondered.

“No, I didn’t think it would be _bad_ ,” Patrick answered, following along behind him. “I just thought it would be uncomfortable or something, not knowing anyone. But I guess everyone’s getting along okay. Your friends seem pretty cool.”

Pausing, Mikey looked up at the night sky and turned around to face Patrick. “Yeah, it’s good,” he agreed. “Did you finish that purity test?”

Patrick laughed and shrugged. “Yeah, I finished it. I’m not really sure what the point of it is or what it even means, but whatever. I took it.”

“There really is no point to it. Like I said, it’s just for fun.” Mikey bit his lip and looked at Patrick expectantly.

“What?” Patrick chuckled, feeling nervous.

“What’s your score?” Mikey asked, grinning.

Patrick laughed and walked past Mikey, further into the backyard. “What does it matter?” he asked over his shoulder.

“It doesn’t,” Mikey replied. He followed after Patrick, silent for a time before asking again. “So what was your score?” Patrick could tell by his tone of voice he was smiling without even looking.

“Dude, it doesn’t matter,” Patrick insisted. “You already said it’s just for fun. It’s not a measure of anything.”

“I’m just curious,” Mikey insisted.

Sighing, Patrick muttered under his breath, “Fifty-eight.”

“What?” Mikey asked, taking a few steps forward to hear him better.

Patrick sighed again and repeated his score in a louder voice. “Fifty-eight.”

Mikey blinked a few times and then looked to the side before returning his eyes to Patrick. “I thought you said you’ve never drank or smoked or any of that,” he said suspiciously.

Narrowing his eyes, Patrick crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I haven’t,” he said flatly.

Mikey thought for another moment. “Well, if you haven’t done any of that, how is your score so low?” He furrowed his brow as he tried to work it over in his head before his eyes suddenly widened. “Oh,” he said quietly, staring at Patrick a long moment before the corner of his mouth twitched up.

Patrick’s heart began to pound heavy in his chest, his eyes focused on the curl of Mikey’s lip, the clear message that smirk was sending. If Mikey had a problem with his sexuality, it was definitely a deal-breaker for their friendship. Even if he hadn’t bisexual himself, homophobia wasn’t any more acceptable than racism or sexism. He hadn’t expected it from Mikey, though. He felt sick.

Narrowing his eyes even more, Patrick glared at Mikey. “Yeah. Oh,” he shot back. “Oh, Patrick’s a fag. Oh.” Huffing out a breath, he pushed past Mikey and stormed back toward the house. He didn’t bother to look back to see if Mikey was still laughing at him.

“I’m ready to go,” he announced to Pete before edging his way out of the house. He barreled through the front door without bothering to check if anyone was following him, crossing the yard and making a beeline for Andy’s van.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he was muttering under his breath when he heard footsteps moving quickly through the grass before a hand was grabbing his shoulder.

“Patrick,” Pete said loudly as he turned him around. “What the fuck is going on? Are you okay?”

Patrick clenched his jaw, his lips pressed together in a thin line as he stared back at Pete. “No. I want to go,” he choked out.

Pete stared at him, trying to decipher what was going on. “What happened?” he asked at last.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Patrick answered quickly, turning on his heel to head back from the van as he pulled away from Pete’s grip. He knew it was unfair to take it out on Pete who had done nothing wrong, but his anger was clouding everything over at this point.

“Okay,” Pete said calmly from behind him. “I’ll go get everyone.”

Patrick listened as Pete trudged back to the house, leaning his head against the side of the van as he waited. When his phone began to vibrate a minute later, he pulled it from his pocket to see the display read, “MWay,” and simply ended the call without answering it.

***

Mikey didn’t call or text Patrick after the party and Patrick didn’t pay it any mind. Thankfully, the few times they shared the same shift at work, they managed to be put on different duties so Patrick didn’t have to deal with him. He switched break times once with a co-worker so he didn’t have to take it at the same time as Mikey. Patrick wanted to be as far away from Mikey as possible. He had thought they were friends, but if Mikey couldn’t handle the fact that sometimes Patrick was into dudes, he could go fuck himself.

It wasn’t until a week later that Patrick actually had to deal with Mikey. He was taking the trash out, and when he lumbered through the back door with the heavy sack over his shoulder, he nearly smacked into Mikey who was standing on the landing having a cigarette on his break.

Patrick gritted his teeth and swept past him, keeping his eyes focused on the stairs as he made his way down. He could feel Mikey’s eyes following him to the dumpster, but he refused to look back at him, not wanting to give Mikey the satisfaction.

Patrick heaved the large bag into the dumpster, listening to it clamor when it hit the bottom of the metal container. Wrinkling his nose at the smell it kicked up, Patrick turned and strode back toward the store, his eyes on the ground in front of him so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge Mikey. He jogged up the few stairs to the landing, but and as he reached the top Mikey stepped back, putting his right foot far enough behind himself to slightly block Patrick’s path. Patrick paused a moment, his eyes slowly rising to Mikey’s face.

Exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air, Mikey stared back at Patrick, his expression blank. “You’re an idiot,” he said simply.

“I’m an idiot?” Patrick spat back, feeling the anger in him rise. “I’m not the one killing myself with a cigarette.” Stepping past Mikey, Patrick turned his shoulders to keep from brushing up against Mikey as he passed, not wanting to touch him.

As Patrick pulled the back door open, Mikey turned back toward the railing, leaning over it, his weight supported on his forearms. “Why do you care if I want to kill myself with cigarettes?” Mikey asked casually, looking off into the distance.

Stopping in the doorway, Patrick muttered, “I don’t,” turning back to face Mikey so Mikey could see just how much he didn’t care, making his expression as blank as possible.

“Really?” Mikey asked, straightening up and turning around. He put his elbows on the railing and leaned back against it. “I don’t believe you.” Cocking his hip to one side caused Mikey’s shirt to ride up and expose an inch of flesh on his right hip.

Patrick’s eyes traveled down to look at the line of Mikey’s hip, lingering for a second. “Fuck you,” he grumbled before tearing his attention away and heading back into the store. The heavy door would have banged shut behind him no matter what, but Patrick slammed it as hard as he could for good measure.

***

That night, Patrick lay in bed, tossing and turning as he thought about Mikey. He was pissed that Mikey cared so much about who he was into, and pissed at himself for caring about whether Mikey cared. Punching his pillow a few times, he tried to reshape it into a more comfortable position.

After a few more minutes without success in falling asleep, Patrick kicked his feet and flailed his arms, frustrated that he was too tense to sleep. He needed to relax, but he couldn’t bring himself to calm down. Staring at the ceiling, he tried to count sheep or to think of peaceful scenes of waves crashing against a shoreline. Nothing worked.

There was one surefire way to make himself tired, he knew, but he wasn’t really in the mood to jerk off right then. He wasn’t horny, just angry. Still, nothing else was working.

Reaching into his nightstand drawer, Patrick procured a bottle of lotion and poured a generous amount in his hand before reaching into his boxers and spreading it over himself. He wasn’t hard, but as he worked it over himself, he thought maybe he could get there.

Patrick stared into space, trying to think of something hot. He thought of Jessica Biel and her curves, but it wasn’t really working for him at the moment. He thought of Justin Timberlake with Jessica Biel, and that was maybe a little more of a turn-on, but it still wasn’t getting him anywhere.

Morrissey suddenly popped into his head, and he considered him for a time while working his hand over his dick, now half hard. Morrissey was kind of old, but he was pretty hot when he was younger. He was British too, which added some mystique to him. His music was a little too angst-ridden for Patrick’s taste, but his features were strong, and he had a presence, which was hot.

Patrick ran his thumb over the tip of his cock, spreading pre-come over it now that he was fully hard. He spread his legs, flexing his feet so he could dig his heels into the mattress, giving himself a firm footing in case he needed to buck up into his hand. A heavy longing feeling was forming deep in his gut, and Patrick was starting to want it more now.

Sliding his free hand up under his t-shirt, Patrick trailed his fingertips lightly across his chest. He twisted his wrist to get a different hold on his cock, making it feel like someone else was jerking him off instead, someone who knew what worked for him. The thought made him shudder and his eyes fell closed, his lips parted as he tried to breathe steadily, his hand still working over himself.

Patrick thought about Morrissey, his mouth. He imagined Morrissey going down on him, looking down and seeing his cock sliding in and out of his lips. He felt himself twitch in his hand, a hot current of desire shooting through his belly.

Patrick could see himself reaching down to run his fingers through Morrissey’s hair or to take a hold of it in his hand and suddenly, he found himself thinking of how utterly ridiculous that hair was. It wasn’t nearly as ridiculous as Mikey’s hair, though. Patrick’s jaw clenched tight at the thought of Mikey and he pictured him with his stupid hair and the way he wore it _underneath_ his glasses and all the time it must have taken him to style it every day just to look that fucking stupid.

Anger flared in his chest as he continued to stroke himself, thinking of Mikey and his hair and how utterly ridiculous it looked. He was jerking himself off faster now, his wrist twisting slightly to rub over the head of his cock and Patrick’s whole body shuddered, a soft moan escaping his mouth. Mikey had called him an idiot, but clearly he was the idiot with his ridiculous hair, Patrick thought, pushing his t-shirt up to his underarms.

Patrick rubbed the palm of his hand over his chest as he felt his stomach ache with the need for release. He stopped moving his hand momentarily to squeeze himself just below the head of his cock, trying to stave off his need to come, to prolong it for a moment. He didn’t want to come thinking about Mikey. _Fuck Mikey_ , he thought, and then his eyes were filled with the vision of Mikey’s hipbone, Patrick on top of him, their mouths pressed together and Patrick was sliding his hand over the shaft of his cock once more and coming, hot, all over his chest.

Lying there a moment, his cock still in hand, Patrick stared up at the ceiling, panting to catch his breath. He blinked a few times before reaching over to grab a handful of tissues and dab the mess on his stomach and chest and to clean off his hand before tossing the tissues in the trash. Pulling his shirt back down, Patrick rolled on to his side, determined not to think on what had just happened any more as he fell fast asleep.

***

Patrick didn’t think about Mikey. He didn’t think about how he’d jerked off while thinking about Mikey. He certainly didn’t miss Mikey. He didn’t think about Mikey and didn’t think about Mikey until Mikey was pretty much all he could think about.

Flipping open his phone, he scrolled through his list of contacts until he found the entry marked “MWay” and decided to send him a text. “Why did you call me an idiot?” he tapped out.

He didn’t hear back, not right away. After a few minutes of staring at his phone, Patrick gave up and pulled out his pre-calculus homework, staring at some equation he didn’t have the first clue of how to solve. Sometime later, his phone came to life.

“Why r u mad at me?” was Mikey’s response.

Patrick frowned at the question. Mikey knew why Patrick was mad at him. Of course he knew. Patrick sent back: “Bcuz you laughed at the fact Im bi?”

Mikey’s response came back quickly: “Ur an idiot.”

***

“Mikey called me an idiot,” Patrick grumbled on the phone to Pete. “Twice, actually.” He crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot quickly against the floor as he glared at the wall.

There was a pause on the other end for a moment before Pete responded. “No offense, dude, but you are kind of an idiot,” Pete replied, sounding amused.

It wasn’t the response Patrick was expecting and his mouth fell open quickly before scowling. This was not the kind of reaction a sympathetic best friend would have. Patrick was about to say as much when Pete cut him off. “You remember a few years ago when I had a mad crush on you for like six months?” he asked.

Patrick furrowed his brow, because he had no idea what Pete was talking about. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Exactly,” Pete replied.

Patrick stopped tapping his foot and uncrossed his arms, dumbfounded. “Wait. Are you serious?” he asked.

“Yes, of course I’m serious,” Pete laughed. “Jesus, Patrick. You’re my best friend and I love you to death, but man, you can be pretty oblivious.”

Patrick could feel his face going red and he brought his hand up to cover his eyes. “Pete,” he said seriously into the receiver. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

“Dude!” Pete said, laughing harder. “I _know_ you had no idea. It’s okay. Ancient history. Things worked out good for me, alright? I love Ashlee. I’m just trying to let you know, you’re kind of dumb about people liking you.”

Patrick sat there, still trying to get it. “Are you saying Mikey likes me?” Patrick asked warily.

“I’m saying you’re kind of dumb about people liking you. If you want to know what Mikey thinks, you’ll have to talk to Mikey.” Patrick was about to respond when Pete added, “Oops! Gotta go! Bye!” and hung up.

_Fuck_.

***

It wasn't until two days later that Patrick actually saw Mikey again. He was at work and knew Mikey had been scheduled for the same shift. (The first thing he did when a new schedule came down was see when he was working; the second thing was to see when Mikey was working.) He'd been thinking about what to say to Mikey when he saw him and had come to one conclusion: he had no idea.

Halfway through his shift, Patrick ended up restocking candy on the register Mikey was assigned to bag at. He threw the occasional look over in Mikey's direction, but Mikey seemed to ignore Patrick's presence, or was so engrossed in his bagging duties, he didn't have time to notice Patrick.

"Hey," Patrick said as the customers seemed to dissipate and they had a moment to themselves. His stomach twisted with worry.

Mikey glanced over at Patrick looking entirely too calm, Patrick thought. "Hey," he replied in a completely normal voice.

"Um, I was wondering if you had some time to talk." Patrick glanced around. The forty-something woman working the register was steadfastly ignoring their conversation, instead sorting out the checks and credit card receipts in her drawer.

Mikey raised his eyebrows and shrugged one shoulder, glancing around as well. "I guess?"

Patrick took a deep breath and then decided to move closer to Mikey. Even if no one else seemed to be paying attention to them, he didn't want to risk the chance that someone was eavesdropping. "So I guess I owe you an apology."

"You guess?" Mikey arched one eyebrow with interest.

"I mean, I owe you an apology. I think I was an idiot. I'm pretty sure, anyway. Or... I hope I was. I don't know," he stammered as he stared down at the toes of his Converse.

When Mikey didn't answer right away, Patrick looked back up. Mikey just shrugged again. "It's okay," he replied.

"Is it?" Patrick scrutinized Mikey.

"It will be, as soon as you buy me some coffee to make up for it," Mikey answered with a slight grin.

Patrick nodded emphatically, because it seemed like he was being let off pretty easily. "Yeah, sure thing. When did you want to go get it?" he wondered.

Mikey looked up in thought. "After work is good for me," he offered.

Patrick had nothing going on, so he agreed.

***

Mikey knew his coffee. He had charged into Starbucks with a purpose, ordering a Venti quadruple shot latte with 2% milk and a shot of hazelnut. Patrick stared at the board for a bit, and then just told the barista he wanted the largest size of whatever coffee was considered regular. He paid, left a tip at the counter, and then brought the drinks over to where Mikey had picked a spot at a small table.

Sitting across from each other, there wasn't much room for their legs under the table, and they bumped against each other's knees every time one shifted. Mikey seemed to keep stretching his foot across to Patrick's side as well, leaning his leg against Patrick's.

"So you agree you’re an idiot," Mikey said at last.

"I hope so," Patrick corrected.

Mikey's face erupted in a genuine smile, the first time Patrick had seen one from him in a week, and his stomach lurched at the sight of it. "You hope you're an idiot? That's a new one."

"Well," Patrick said as he watched Mikey take a sip from his latte. "I'm hoping I'm an idiot in the sense that I don't want what I thought happened to have happened. I mean, I hope I just misperceived it or something, I guess."

Mikey set his cup on the table. "That makes no sense at all," he stated.

"Yeah, I know," Patrick sighed. He drummed his fingers on the table, trying to figure out what he wanted to say. "So, you figured out how my purity test score could be so low, even if I'd never drank before, right?"

Mikey nodded. "Right."

"Okay, so, you know I've fooled around with guys," Patrick continued. "And... I guess I thought you were laughing at me or judging me or... I don't know. It looked like you were smirking," he tried to explain. It sounded feeble even to his own ears.

Mikey shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. "No, not laughing," he confirmed. "I hope you know that I wouldn't judge you for that sort of thing."

"I know!" Patrick exclaimed, leaning forward and putting his hand on Mikey's forearm before he could catch himself. "I mean, I should have known. You're right. I'm kind of an idiot." Noticing Mikey was looking down at where he was touching his arm, Patrick quickly released his grasp on it, putting his hand back in his lap. "Anyway, I totally went off without thinking about it and I made assumptions I shouldn't have made, and I'm really sorry about it. If it makes it any better, the last week has really sucked, thinking that I lost a good friend over it or whatever."

Mikey sat for a moment, sucking on his lower lip. He brought his drink up to his mouth and took a small sip before setting his cup down again. "Well," he said at last. "I did have a reaction to what you said, so I guess I can't blame you entirely. I can see where you could have misinterpreted it. Uh, not everyone in high school is cool with that sort of thing. Believe me."

Patrick brought his cup up to his lips to take a drink and then quickly pulled it back down, his hand shooting up to cover his mouth. “Motherfuck,” he cried. “That shit is hot. How can you drink it when it’s still so hot?”

Mikey chuckled, taking another drink from his own beverage. “I’m a professional,” he replied. “Don’t try this at home. I’ve had years of training under the tutelage of my brother.”

“Goddamn,” Patrick laughed, his tongue still burning. “You Ways must have heat resistance powers.”

“We are mutants, yes,” Mikey grinned.

“It’s really nice to see you smile at me again,” Patrick admitted, his fingers running over the sides of his cup.

“Likewise,” Mikey agreed. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and looked around the coffee shop. “You should come over and hang out sometime, again. Maybe we can play Halo again or listen to some music.”

Patrick cringed inwardly at the idea of playing Halo. “Music sounds good,” he agreed.

“Awesome,” Mikey smiled. “How about this weekend?”

***

Neither Patrick nor Mikey had to work Friday night, so they made plans to hang out at Mikey's that night. Patrick headed over after dinner and things seemed to be the same as they had always been when they got together. They started off by playing a little bit on the Playstation, joking about each other's lack of skill.

They ended up lying on Mikey's bed, listening to music. When Mikey had put on Muse’s _Black Holes and Revelations_ , they had been lying a couple feet apart. Throughout the course of the album, they had gradually shifted closer until their shoulders met, their bodies angling out from there to form the shape of a ‘V.’ Their legs were spread apart, however, so that Mikey’s sock - clad foot occasionally bumped up against Patrick’s.

Their conversation had waned until they were just lying there, listening to the music in silence. It didn’t feel uncomfortable though, as Patrick might have feared. Instead, he felt relaxed, like they were just enjoying each other's presence. Patrick had his hands folded over his stomach, tapping the beat against it with one index finger, Mikey’s foot still occasionally bumping against his.

When Mikey went to shift his position again, Patrick felt his hair brush across his cheek, signaling Mikey’s presence close to him. Patrick allowed his head to lean toward Mikey's until they were touching together. Closing his eyes, Patrick took in a slow, deep breath, just enjoying feeling alive as the strains of “Starlight” chimed on the stereo system.

Patrick allowed his right hand to slide off his stomach and into the space between their bodies, where he found Mikey’s hand. The back of their hands were touching, if barely, but the heat generated between their bare skin was palpable, like an electrical current was flowing between them. Surprisingly, Mikey made no gesture to move his hand away.

Patrick could feel his breathing begin to get shallower and quicker. In response, his heart thudded heavily in his chest as his stomach twisted in anticipation of what was happening between them. Forcing himself to take another deep breath, Patrick moved his hand to slide his fingers into Mikey's palm. Again, Mikey didn’t pull away. Instead, he curled the tips of his fingers around Patrick's hand, joining them together.

An incredible urge to turn his head toward Mikey overtook Patrick, and he realized he was holding his breath. For his part, Mikey lay still, but as Patrick glanced down, he could see where Mikey’s stomach was moving in and out quickly along with his breaths. Before he could dwell on it any longer, Patrick turned his head toward Mikey and reached across with his left hand to turn Mikey’s face to his.

Mikey moved without resistance and Patrick’s eyes flickered up for just long enough to notice Mikey’s eyes closing behind his glasses. It was all the permission Patrick needed as he moved forward to press a soft kiss against Mikey’s lips. It was quick, Patrick pulling back after just a second. He lingered nearby though, opening his eyes to see any kind of response by Mikey.

Mikey’s eyes fluttered open slightly and Mikey looked at Patrick through heavy-lidded eyes. They stayed like that, faces only inches apart and holding hands as they watched each other. When Patrick’s eyes dropped down, he could make out the barest of smiles playing on Mikey’s lips.

Patrick leaned in again and this time held their lips together for a few seconds. He pulled back just a couple of inches and when he moved in to kiss Mikey again, he was surprised by the sensation of Mikey’s lips around his lower lip, warm and soft as Mikey’s other hand gripped Patrick’s arm to hold him there.

Parting his lips slightly, Patrick drew his tongue across the seam of Mikey’s lips. He heard Mikey make a soft sound as he drew in a quick breath of surprise before opening his mouth just enough. Their tongues touched together and it wasn’t as if it was the first time Patrick had kissed someone, but it was the first time he’d kissed someone without being scared if he was doing it right, knowing that Mikey wasn’t going to laugh at him or mock him. The only thing Patrick felt was the need for more of this, to have more contact with Mikey.

Mikey evidently agreed they should have more contact as his mouth opened wider, coaxing Patrick’s tongue with his own. He clutched on to Patrick’s arm tighter, tugging now as he pulled back more toward the wall, trying to roll Patrick on top of him. Moving his hand from Mikey’s face, Patrick put it on the mattress to support his weight and followed Mikey’s lead, shifting himself until he was hovering on top of Mikey, their chest together and Patrick’s legs next to Mikey’s.

Staying in this position, Patrick ran his tongue over Mikey’s pulling back occasionally before immediately resuming their kisses. The sound of their mouths pressing together and pulling apart in soft, wet smacking noises and the feel of Mikey’s mouth, soft and inviting, was beginning to cause Patrick to throb hard against the zipper of his pants.

He tried to relax and keep things leisurely, not wanting to rush it along and just enjoying the moment. Mikey moved his hand to Patrick’s back, slowly sliding it up until Patrick felt it hot against the back of his neck. Mikey slid his fingers up into the hair at the nape of Patrick’s neck, tugging it gently before caressing him again.

When Mikey reached up higher underneath the back of Patrick’s hat, he knocked it off, causing Patrick to pull back. Patrick panted to catch his breath as he looked down at Mikey underneath him. Mikey’s lips were red and parted and his cheeks flushed as he looked back up at Patrick in a daze. Patrick studied Mikey’s face to remember it for later and then slipped his glasses off, tossing them aside.

Mikey pulled his glasses off as well and when Patrick brought his face down to meet Mikey’s once again, Mikey put his hand on Patrick’s hip, pushing on it to urge Patrick over. Patrick planted both hands on the bed and slid himself on top of Mikey completely, his legs straddling either side of Mikey’s leg. When he lowered himself down to Mikey, Patrick felt Mikey’s cock hard against his hip. Patrick made an undignified grunting noise as he grinded down against Mikey, a heaviness settling deep inside his gut.

“Patrick,” Mikey panted as he turned his head away to break off their kiss.

Patrick’s eyes went wide in fear as he tried to make out Mikey’s face beneath him, to see if he was upset. “Are you okay? Do you want to stop?” he asked anxiously, trying to pull back to give Mikey room.

“No,” Mikey said authoritatively as he clutched Patrick’s shoulder in an attempt to keep him from fleeing. “I’m fine, just hot,” he explained. “I just need enough room to...” Mikey let go of Patrick and reached down for the hem of his shirt, tugging it up as he wiggled to free his body of it. He tossed the shirt on to the floor and then looked up at Patrick expectantly.

Patrick blinked a few times, his eyes darting over to where Mikey had discarded the t-shirt. “You want me to?” he asked.

“If you want,” Mikey answered, his voice sounding playful. Patrick wasn’t really sure he wanted to, being a little self conscious about being shirtless. “You don’t have to,” Mikey added after a moment of Patrick’s indecision.

Mikey snaked a hand up the bottom of Patrick’s shirt, his fingertips grazing cross Patrick’s lower back and sending sparks across his skin. Patrick pulled back up to his knees and figured _why not_. He tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it on to the floor as Mikey had done before lowering himself until his bare chest was pressed up against Mikey’s.

Their bodies were hot where they touched together, but the air was cool across Patrick’s back and he couldn’t help but shiver at the contrast. He soon forgot about it though, as the heat from Mikey’s mouth against his shot his body temperature up another ten degrees.

Their kisses grew needier, tongues tangling and lips pressing together with more urgency. Patrick pulled back and began to kiss along Mikey’s jaw line as Mikey breathed hot and heavy in his ear. Patrick sucked Mikey’s earlobe into his mouth gently flicking his tongue against it as he held it firmly between his teeth. With the soft flesh still caught in his teeth, Patrick pulled back slowly stretching the skin as his teeth scraped over it until it popped free. Mikey gasped and pushed his hips against Patrick’s, his fingers digging into the skin on Patrick’s back.

As he kissed a line down the side of Mikey’s neck to the column of his throat, Mikey began breathing more erratically. Patrick ran his tongue over the skin there, which elicited a groan of appreciation from Mikey in response. Patrick sucked in a soft spot of flesh and Mikey squirmed beneath him, moaning Patrick’s name.

Patrick’s stomach clenched at the response he had elicited, the heaviness in his gut settling deeper. Mikey shoved his hand in the back of Patrick’s waistband, before following it around to the front and tugging at the button of his jeans. Patrick raised his head to look at Mikey in question, and Mikey closed his eyes and nodded.

“Please,” he whispered, and Patrick didn’t need to be asked again. He sat up and popped open the button of his pants before shoving them down over his hips. Beneath him, Mikey was doing the same, shimmying out of his second-skin jeans before kicking the off completely so he was clad only in a pair of boxer briefs.

Patrick leaned back in over Mikey as he pulled his legs from his own jeans one at a time. His hard cock was poking out from the slit in his boxer shorts and Mikey’s fingers encircled it, holding him firmly.

“Oh, shit,” Patrick gasped, dropping down beside Mikey onto his side. At this angle, he could snake his hand into the opening of Mikey’s briefs, the palm of his hand sliding over the soft, taunt skin of Mikey’s cock. Patrick felt Mikey shudder, his head falling back as he pushed up into Patrick’s hand.

Patrick tried to concentrate on Mikey, the way he felt in his hand, similar to when he jerked himself off but completely different. Mikey was tracing circles around the head of Patrick’s cock with the pad of his thumb though, so Patrick could only concentrate so much.

He shifted his hand around to try different angles as he stroked Mikey, paying attention to the sounds Mikey made in response or the way his legs would tremble. Mikey stroked him at the same pace, slow and experimentally, their hands traveling the entire length of the shaft each time.

Ducking his head, Patrick met Mikey’s lips again with his own, kissing him soft in hurried, short kisses as he felt the tension in his stomach grow. As Mikey’s hand quickened its pace, so did Patrick’s, matching it in time.

“Patrick,” Mikey whispered, his voice strangled and Patrick could only grunt in response before he felt Mikey’s cock throbbing in his hand, hot stripes of come streaking his stomach. Patrick snapped his hips against Mikey’s hand a couple quick times and he too was coming, a low groan emanating in his throat.

Patrick pulled his hand away from Mikey, wiping his palm on the seat of his boxers. Mikey reached over his head to find the tissue box that sat on his nightstand, offering it to Patrick before beginning to clean himself up.

As they lay there, Patrick became more aware of the sweat that had pooled in the creases of his hips and the back of his knees, cooling him down. He moved closer to Mikey for warmth, and Mikey scooted in next to Patrick, his eyes closed and a content smile on his face.

“I don’t have a problem with you being bi,” Mikey said at last, causing Patrick to break into laughter.

“I should hope not,” Patrick replied. “Or we would have to have a really awkward discussion about what just happened.”

Mikey was silent for a time and Patrick just listened to him taking even breaths. “So we don’t have to have an awkward discussion now?” Mikey asked.

“Awkward?” Patrick repeated. “No. If you want to talk about it, we can. Maybe we should.”

Mikey opened his eyes and met Patrick’s eyes. “I’m not sure if there’s much to talk about. I obviously like you,” he said, smiling softly at Patrick.

“Well, I obviously like you, too,” Patrick replied. “Uh, sorry again for me being such an idiot about things. I’m kind of—“

Mikey reached up quickly, pressing a finger to Patrick’s lips. “Don’t,” he cautioned. “Don’t say anything bad about yourself. I’ll beat up anyone who says bad things about you, including you.”

Patrick smirked at that. “Yeah?” he asked, amused. “You and what army?”

“I’m a tough guy, remember?” Mikey asked, lazily lifting one arm and flexing it weakly. “Like Popeye.”

***

The next weekend, Patrick invited Mikey to come over and watch 80s comedies with him in his room. They started off with Fast Times at Ridgemont High sitting next to each other on Patrick’s bed, leaned back against his headboard. When the movie ended, they were both mostly laying on the bed, their feet rubbing against the each other’s occasionally. By the time they put in Sixteen Candles, they were looking at each other after every good laugh and sharing a quick kiss. Twenty minutes into the movie, Patrick was thinking about maybe going in for something more substantial when his mother walked in, unannounced. To her credit, she looked just as surprised to see them as they did to see her.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, startled. “I thought Mikey had already left.”

Patrick stared blankly back at his mother, too busy thanking the universe that he hadn’t been going at it with Mikey at that moment to respond properly. “No, he’s still here,” he said at last, stating the obvious.

“Hi,” Mikey added, with a wave of his hand as if to emphasize the point.

His mom shrugged, unconcerned, and set the laundry basket she’d carrying down next to his dresser. “Are you spending the night?”

Patrick raised his eyebrows and turned to look at Mikey, inquisitively.

Mikey looked back at Patrick, raising his eyebrows to match. “I can,” he replied slowly. “If you want,” he added. “My mom won’t care.”

“Yes,” Patrick said, turning his attention back to his mother. “He’s spending the night.”

“Okay. Don’t stay up too late,” Patrick’s mother sang as she left the room, looking completely oblivious to the fact that her son and his friend were about to spend the better part of the night fooling around.

Patrick waited a beat after the door closed behind her. “Awesome,” he said loudly , sitting up straight in the bed. “This is awesome. You can spend the night.” He marveled at the idea, having never entertained the thought before.

“Yeah,” Mikey chuckled. “And you can spend the night at my house, too, when you want.”

Patrick felt guilty in some part of his mind, knowing their parents would have no idea what they were up to. Whatever, though. They could always tell them another time that their sons were dating. “That’s... Isn’t that crazy?” he asked, incredulous.

“Well,” Mikey said after some thought. “Probably, yeah. But I’d rather just enjoy it instead of spending too much time thinking about it.”

“Point,” Patrick conceded. “Okay, so let’s just enjoy it.” He settled back down against the mattress, putting his arm out so Mikey could fit into the space between his arm and his chest. Patrick turned his attention back to the movie, where Molly Ringwald was regretting her decision to show up at the school dance.

It took Patrick about thirty seconds before he noticed Mikey watching him intently. When it finally dawned on him, his eyes darted over to where Mikey was gazing at him. “What?” he asked, concerned.

“Are you enjoying this?” Mikey asked, his eyebrows raised.

Patrick furrowed his brow, confused, and looked back at the tv. “Uh, yeah? I mean, I really like this movie. That’s why I own it.” He wasn’t sure if Mikey wanted to watch something else though, so he offered, “I can put in Better Off Dead, though, if you’d rather.”

Mikey laughed softly, and turned over on to his stomach, pushing closer to Patrick’s face. “I mean,” he clarified, “are you _enjoying_ this.” With that, Mikey lowered his mouth to Patrick’s neck and nipped his pale flesh.

“ _Oh_ ,” Patrick replied, realization slowly sinking in that Mikey was not referring to the movie they had put on. “I would. I mean, I’d like to,” he stammered out, taking in quick breaths as a slow flush spreads over his cheeks and neck.

Mikey raised his face, smiling at Patrick’s reaction. “Is your mom likely to walk back in here without knocking first?”

Patrick glanced over at the door and then back to Mikey. “Uh, no. I don’t think so.” He scrambled off the bed and over to the door. “But just to be safe...” He twisted the lock, just in case.

When Patrick returned to the bed, Mikey was sitting up, watching him with a mischievous look that caused Patrick’s stomach to twist. “What?” he asked.

Mikey smirked. “I’ve been thinking. About some stuff,” he said, keeping it vague.

“Oh?” Patrick asked, his knees feeling weak as he climbed back on the bed.

“Yes,” Mikey nodded.

“What kind of stuff?” His heart was beating faster now, his stomach twisting harder.

Mikey gave an innocent shrug. “Stuff I’d like to do. To you. With you.”

Patrick could feel the flush on his neck spreading down over his chest as his pants began to feel tighter. Reaching down, he adjusted himself. “Uh, who are you and what have you done with Mikey?” he asked, nervously.

“Am I freaking you out?” Mikey laughed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t trying to scare you or anything.”

“No. No, I’m not frightened,” Patrick replied. “It’s just... different.”

“Different good or different bad?” Mikey asked. He must have known the answer, because he leaned forward again and kissed Patrick soft on the lips.

“Good different,” Patrick decided. “Definitely good different. I mean, I like you. Uh, in more than a friends way. In case you hadn’t noticed last week.”

Mikey bit his lip and raised his eyebrows as he nodded. “I did notice. I’ve also been thinking about that a lot. “

“You have?” Patrick replied. He didn’t know why he sounded so surprised. He’d been thinking about it a lot, too - pretty much every night when he went to bed and sometimes in the morning while he showered. “I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about a lot of stuff,” he admitted.

“Like?” The corner of Mikey’s mouth twitched up into that sly smile he gave when he was interested.

“So, I’m a virgin,” Patrick blurted out. “Technically, anyway. I mean, I’ve done stuff, just not... I’ve never had actual sex. Not with a guy. Or a girl, for that matter,” he admitted. “But, you know, I’ve done other stuff.”

Mikey nodded slowly, his half-smile lingering in place. “Yeah, me too. To both not having sex and to doing other stuff.”

“Okay,” Patrick sighed, slightly relieved to know that Mikey wasn’t any more experienced than he was. “So, I was thinking about doing that other stuff,” he said after a time.

Mikey nodded again. “Me too,” he admitted. “I think about what we did a lot and about other stuff.”

“I think about sex, too,” Patrick added. “But... I mean, I’m not...” He grimaced, feeling stupid about turning down the possibility of sex offhand.

“It’s okay,” Mikey rushed in to assure him. “I think it’s kind of soon for that. I mean, there are other things we can do for now. Other stuff.”

“Right,” Patrick agreed. “Stuff.”

They stared at each other another moment before they both dissolved into laughter. “I’m no good at trying to be sexy,” Patrick said, covering his face with his hands. He felt a stinging on his arm and he dropped his hands to stare at Mikey. “Ow!” he cried. “Why’d you hit me!”

“I warned you not to say mean things about yourself,” Mikey reminded him.

“That’s not mean,” Patrick protested. “It’s true!”

Mikey smacked Patrick in the same place on his arm once more, this time causing Patrick to laugh as he grabbed his arm from the pain. “Ouch, stop that!” he laughed.

“You stop it,” Mikey replied defiantly, sticking his tongue out.

“Oh, fuck you,” Patrick chuckled, pushing Mikey down onto the mattress and straddling his hips. He pinned Mikey’s hands to the bed where they laid, over his head, and brought his mouth to Mikey’s for a kiss as he grinded his hips down against Mikey. “I’m not good at trying to be sexy,” Patrick repeated.

Mikey squirmed and strained underneath Patrick, and Patrick could feel through his jeans Mikey was already excited. “Beg to differ,” Mikey said in a breathy voice as he wiggled his hips under Patrick for emphasis.

Patrick kissed Mikey again, sliding his fingers between Mikey’s fingers as he did and keeping his hands pinned down above his head. He rubbed himself over Mikey, trying to feel as much as he could through the two layers of denim and their zippers.

Breaking off the kiss abruptly, Patrick stared down at Mikey, whose face was flushed and was panting openly. Feeling emboldened by the effect he had on Mikey, he said in asked in as steady voice as he could muster, “Can I blow you?”

Patrick had very limited experience with oral sex, only having given it once. It hadn’t lasted terribly long, as he suspected it was the guy’s first time receiving it, but Patrick had enjoyed it. He wanted to listen to the noises Mikey made when his cock was heavy on his tongue, wanted to feel Mikey’s hands tugging on his hair, wanted to taste him.

“Oh god,” Mikey moaned, bucking his hips up ineffectually as Patrick kept his hands and hips pinned to the bed. “Please,” he begged.

Releasing Mikey’s hands, Patrick scooted back and watched as Mikey frantically tugged off his clothes, stripping down to nothing in a matter of seconds. He let his eyes fall over Mikey’s body: the way his collar bones stood out; the lean muscle that stretched over his arms; his flat stomach and the jut of his hip bone; how the swell of his thigh dipped down into his knee.

Patrick moved back on the bed until he was kneeling between Mikey’s knees. He placed his hands on either side of Mikey’s hips and lowered himself to the bed, kissing down Mikey’s abdomen and across the flat of his stomach. Shuffling back farther down the bed, Patrick moved his lips to the inside of Mikey’s thigh, halfway up to his groin. He trailed his kisses slowly upward until he reached the crease of Mikey’s hip and then he switched to the inside of Mikey’s other thigh, repeating the process.

By the time Patrick reached Mikey’s hip a second time, Mikey was lifting his hips off the bed, panting loudly. Patrick wrapped his hand around the base of Mikey’s cock and listened to the strangled moan Mikey fought to hold back. He brought his tongue across the head of Mikey’s cock once, pausing as Mikey let out a whimper, his cock jerking in Patrick’s hand when no other contact came.

Patrick again poked his tongue out and licked a stripe up the underside of Mikey’s cock, then continuing over the head. He ran the tip of his tongue over the slit of Mikey’s dick, tasting his pre-come. Patrick was so hard now his pants were uncomfortable so with his free hand, he unfastened the button on his fly and roughly pushed his jeans down trying to give himself more room to breathe.

Patrick followed the ridge of Mikey’s cock as he swirled his tongue around the head, stopping at the underside and then licking all the way up once more. He puckered his lips together and then brought them to the tip of Mikey’s cock, pressing them against it before parting his lips to gently suck the tip into his mouth.

Mikey made a desperate grunt, his legs tensing as his hips lifted off the bed to meet Mikey’s mouth. Patrick hummed a warning and Mikey twitched in his mouth, but went still. Slowly, Patrick resumed lowering his mouth over Mikey’s cock, taking him in a little at a time until he felt his lips brush against the thumb of the hand that held Mikey.

Pulling back, Patrick kept his lips sealed tight around Mikey, trying to keep as much friction as possible as his tongue pressed against the underside of the shaft. He moved slowly until he reached the head of Mike’s cock and then he slowly took Mikey back in his mouth once more. Down he moved until he met his hand once again and pulled back.

After a few passes, Patrick increased his pace, moving his hand up slightly to meet his mouth as it slid down. He felt Mikey’s fingers sliding into his hair and clutching it, tugging him gently to pull him up and pushing against his head to urge him back down again.

As the spit from his mouth slid down, it created a slick path for Patrick’s palm to travel and he jerked Mikey off with more ease as he bobbed his head up and down faster. He could make out the sound of Mikey spewing a litany of curse words under his breath and it spurred Patrick on to move faster, to tighten his lips more.

His own stomach was tightening from want of being touched and Patrick reached between his legs, taking himself roughly in his hand and jerking erratically with his free hand. It wouldn’t take much, at this point, between the gasps and moans Mikey was emitting to the emphatic tugging on his hair. Patrick was so turned on, his stomach ached for release.

“Patrick,” Mikey managed to squeak out, and Patrick could feel the pulsing in his own stomach as he came in his hand. A moment later, he tasted Mikey on his tongue, swallowing furiously to take in as much as he could.

When Patrick pulled back, he wiped a drip from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and slid the palm of his hand across the sheet to wipe his own come off. Mikey lay still, panting to catch his back, his eyelids fluttering closed.

“Did you?” he managed and Patrick nodded in response. “Fuck,” he murmured. “I wanted to return the favor.”

“You can some other time,” Patrick replied, smiling against Mikey’s neck as he curled up next to him in bed.

Mikey repaid his debt when Patrick awoke at five that morning mid blow job.

***

Three months passed, and Patrick and Mikey continued to see each other. They never made an official statement to their friends about being in a relationship, but they didn’t bother to hide it, either, holding hands and kissing each other in public. To neither of their surprise, their friends were cool with it; after all, they only hung out with cool people.

It had been three months of hand holding and make out sessions and jerk offs and blow jobs when the topic of sex was finally broached.

They had been at another house party, this time thrown by some friends of some friends of Patrick’s. Patrick invited Mikey, who dutifully brought Bob and Ray and Frank in tow. Ashlee was introducing a shell-shocked Bob to Greta (Ray and Frank snickering at him) when Mikey sidled up to Patrick with his fourth cup of beer.

Patrick could tell he was buzzed, that warm, light look Mikey got after he’d had a few drinks. He wasn’t drunk - not stumbling around - but beer-happy and smiling when he leaned in to Patrick’s ear and murmured casually, “I want you to fuck me.”

Patrick promptly choked on the can of Coke he had been sipping from at the time, much to Mikey’s amusement, and when Pete asked him what was wrong, he had to wave his hand and assure him his face was only right red from the heat in the room.

***

They talked about it the rest of the week that followed the party. Patrick had to ask Mikey again, once sober, if he really meant it. After many reassurances, Patrick was persuaded and they discussed the logistics of the matter.

“What if I hurt you?” Patrick worried.

“You won’t,” Mikey replied.

“But what if I do?” He frowned at the idea of Mikey in pain because of something he did to bring him pleasure.

“You _won’t_ ,” Mikey insisted.

“How do you know?” Patrick asked, because really, there was no way Mikey could know.

Mikey sighed and rolled his eyes. “Because if it hurt, no one would do it. And yet? It’s not an uncommon thing,” he replied.

“But...” Patrick slumped his shoulders.

Mikey sighed and gave Patrick a reassuring smile. “Look,” he started. “I’ve been preparing, okay? It’ll be fine.”

Patrick’s eyes went wide as he tried to figure out what Mikey was saying. “What do you mean you’ve been preparing?” he asked when he couldn’t work out the answer himself.

Mikey reached under his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been doing it to myself, okay?” he mumbled. “Fingering myself.”

“Oh.” Patrick could feel his face going inexplicably red. “Oh, okay. And it’s... you’re okay with doing that?” he asked, cautiously.

Mikey lowered his hand and looked Patrick in the eyes, giving him a firm nod. “Look, I wouldn’t ask you to do it if I didn’t enjoy it. Please, don’t worry.”

“Alright,” Patrick replied, trying to relax the tension he felt in his shoulders. “Still might hurt.”

“We can just try?” Mikey replied. “We can stop if it’s bad, okay?” He looked at Patrick with pleading eyes, and Patrick agreed.

They picked a weekend night when Mikey’s parents were gone, and Patrick spent the night. They figured more time would keep them from feeling as rushed, and an empty house was just one step away from a hotel room.

Alone in Mikey's room, Patrick got a second wave of nerves as he thought about what they were about to do. He fumbled with the buckle of his belt as he undressed, his hands shaking.

Mikey eyed Patrick and gave him a soothing look. "Hey, we don't have to do this if you don't want to," he assured him. "I don't want you to be upset over it."

Patrick shook his head quickly in response. "No, I do want to do it. I really do," he insisted. "It's not like I haven't thought about it. I've thought about it a lot. I just..." He shrugged, looking away. "I seriously am afraid it's going to hurt you."

Mikey leaned in and gave Patrick a soft kiss on the cheek. "You're very sweet," he said. "But I'm not going to break. Please trust me, Patrick." Mikey kissed him again, this time on the lips. "I want this. I want you."

Patrick took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, willing himself to relax as he pulled his shirt off, knocking his glasses askew in the process. "Oh, oops," he tittered. "I guess I forgot to take these off."

Mikey reached out and took Patrick's glasses from him, setting them down on his dresser and then placing his own glasses beside them. His movements were slow and deliberate, and it reassured Patrick that he had thought things through and really wanted this.

Patrick watched as Mikey tugged his shirt off and peeled himself out of his jeans. Mikey then began working on the clasp of Mikey's belt, helping to get Patrick the rest of the way out of his own clothes. Taking Patrick by the hand, Mikey led him to the bed and sat down, swinging his feet on to the mattress and laying back.

Patrick got on the bed beside Mikey, laying on his side and gingerly stroking his fingers over Mikey's chest. Mikey reached over and grabbed the tube of KY Jelly he'd bought, handing it over to Patrick as he slid off his briefs. "Here," he said softly. "For whenever you feel ready."

Bringing his face down to meet Mikey's, Patrick kissed him slowly, his tongue entering Mike's mouth and exploring it. His fingers continued to brush down over Mikey's torso, following over the peak of his ribs and then down to the valley of his stomach, and he felt Mikey suck in his stomach with a slight shiver at the touch.

As his fingers brushed across hair, Patrick pulled back and looked down at Mikey, who smiled up at him. He got up and scooted down to reposition himself between Mikey's legs. Squeezing an ample amount of lube into the palm of his hand, Patrick proceeded to work it over his index and middle finger of his right hand.

"Ready?" Patrick asked, watching Mikey's face. Mikey sucked in a breath and kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling as he nodded, pulling his legs up and apart to give Patrick access.

Patrick followed the line of Mikey's ass with one lubed finger, finding his hole and pressing in ever so slightly. He stared at Mikey to see if there was any sort of negative response, but Mikey kept his expression neutral, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling.

"You okay?" Patrick asked, pausing.

Mikey nodded his head emphatically. "I'm fine," he assured Patrick. "I can barely feel that."

Satisfied, Patrick pushed his fingertip in a little farther, finding less resistance than he expected once he pushed past the initial ring of muscle. Mikey was tight, but not rigidly so, and Patrick relaxed slightly.

"You can go faster," Mikey offered.

Patrick dropped his head, laughing weakly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he replied. "You're getting bored waiting for me to have sex with you. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Mikey stated. "Do what you need to do, but I'm okay."

Patrick pushed his index finger in farther, until it was completely inside Mikey. He slid it back out and then pushed back in, trying to angle around to find room for a second finger. Once his index finger moved easily in and out, Patrick looked back to Mikey.

"You still good? Should I add another?" he wondered.

"Please?" Mikey said in a quiet voice. He sounded needy, which took away any of Patrick's remaining doubts.

Sliding two fingers inside was a different sensation, feeling Mikey tighter around him. Mikey shifted his position, and Patrick stopped with his fingers in up to his first knuckle.

"Bad?" he asked, worried that he was hurting Mikey.

"No," Mikey replied. "Just different. Needed to get in a better position is all." When Patrick didn't continue immediately, he added, "I'm good now. Keep going."

Patrick pressed his fingers deeper into Mikey, feeling the stretch of the muscle around them. Mikey let out a slow breath as Patrick pushed in completely, nodding his head as if to tell Patrick to keep going.

He withdrew his fingers almost completely before pressing in again, repeating the process. Once Mikey felt like he could handle that girth, Patrick twisted his wrist and pressed up, trying to find Mikey's spot.

"Mmph," Mikey grunted, raising his hips from the bed.

"Sorry," Patrick replied, stopping immediately. "Did that hurt?"

Mikey winced slightly. "No," he replied in a higher pitched voice. "Not hurt, just felt kind of... different," he replied. "I'm good, Patrick. Please don't stop."

Patrick turned his wrist back and Mikey let out a ragged breath. "Should I try another finger?" he wondered after fingering Mikey for a moment.

"You can," Mikey agreed. He pulled his feet up higher on the bed until they were right beneath his ass.

Patrick completely withdrew his fingers from Mikey, who gasped at the loss. Spreading more lube over his fingers, Patrick tried to press in with three fingers. This time, Mikey made a definite face.

"What's wrong?" Patrick asked, stopping.

Mikey shook his head again. "It's just different," he repeated. "I've never done three myself."

Patrick looked down at his hand where his three fingers were grouped together. They didn't look like all that much compared to what it would be like when they were having sex and Patrick immediately considered stopping.

Mikey must have been able to read the look on Patrick's face because he kicked one leg at Patrick. "Hey," he said, getting Patrick's attention. "Don't back out on me. I've wanted this for a while now." He sucked in a deep breath and then let it out unsteadily. "Maybe if you can distract me with something else?" he suggested.

"Oh. Right." Patrick took Mikey in his other hand, holding his semi-hard cock as he leaned forward and sucked the head into his mouth. Mikey moaned and Patrick could feel his cock becoming more erect in his mouth. Encouraged, he opened his mouth wider to take more in as he gently worked his three fingers in Mikey's ass.

He pressed in just a fraction at a time before pausing, all the while working Mikey's cock over with his mouth. When he'd gotten up to his second knuckle, Patrick pulled off.

"How is it?" he asked as he noticed Mikey breathing heavy and more ragged.

"Good," Mikey replied, his voice raspy. "It's good. Please don't stop," he begged.

Patrick quickly leaned down again and drew Mikey in his mouth once more. Mikey was groaning and squirming on the bed as Patrick pressed his fingers in more, the junction where all three met getting exponentially wider at that point. He hummed as he worked his mouth over Mikey, trying to distract from the stretched feeling Mikey must have been experiencing.

When he'd worked his fingers inside of Mikey completely, Patrick twisted his hand, trying to stretch the muscles enough to accommodate him. Mikey grunted and squirmed before panting Patrick's name.

Patrick pulled back, his mouth coming off Mikey with a loud pop. "You okay?" he asked.

"I think you should just do it," Mikey said through gritted teeth.

Patrick looked warily at him. "Are you sure about that?" he asked, seeing as Mikey looked to be in some pain.

"Yes," Mikey hissed. "Just please, Patrick."

Patrick pulled his fingers out and Mikey exhaled sharply, panting as he looked down to watch Patrick coat himself with lube. "Okay," Patrick said after stroking himself a few times. He maneuvered in between Mikey's legs and lowered himself down on top of Mikey.

Rubbing the head of his cock down the crack of Mikey's ass, Patrick found his hole and positioned himself against it. Mikey raised his knees up bringing his feet off the bed to give Patrick better access before Patrick held himself with one hand as he pushed forward, guiding his cock inside of Mikey.

The feeling was hotter and tighter than Patrick had expected. He figured it was because his fingers were nowhere near as sensitive, but it still didn't prepare him for this. "Mikey," he gasped. He wanted to slam into Mikey hard and it took everything he had to stop himself to allow Mikey to adjust to the feeling.

"I'm okay," Mikey grunted. "Go, just go," he urged and Patrick pushed forward once more, slowly sliding inside, muscle gripping tight around him. He was moving in as slow as he could force himself to go without stopping completely. When he was about halfway inside, Mikey made a face and Patrick stopped short.

"Move," Mikey instructed Patrick.

Patrick hesitated. "Mikey, if I move too much I'm going to come," he admitted.

"It's okay. Just please," Mikey hissed, his eyes squeezed closed tight.

Patrick pushed in as far as he could and then pulled back, trying to go slow so he wouldn't finish too quickly. He gasped again at the sensation, the transition from hot to cool and from the friction against his cock. "Mikey, fuck, Mikey," he warned, his eyes closing. "Mikey, it's so good, I can't..." He jerked his hips in slight, quick movements in and out, his instinct taking over.

Patrick felt his stomach clench, and before he could stop moving inside Mikey, he was coming, his body twitching with each contraction. When he was finished, he pulled out of Mikey, falling beside him, one trembling hand covering his eyes.

He was overwhelmed with a mixture of feelings: embarrassment at how fast it had ended; worry that he had hurt Mikey; disappointment that he hadn't made Mikey feel good in the process; elation from the feeling of an orgasm thrumming through his body; and an all-encompassing feeling of contentment.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, bringing his hand from his face and burying himself against Mikey's neck. He held Mikey tight in his arms. "I love you so much."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he was overcome by the desire to take him back. "Oh fuck," he moaned. "Oh fucking hell." He rolled way from Mikey and pulled a pillow over his face.

"Patrick?" Mikey said gently, putting his hand on Patrick's chest. "Patrick, what's wrong?"

"I am such an idiot," Patrick grumbled from beneath the pillow before casting it aside. "I can't believe I just did that. How cliché." He closed his eyes, shaking his head as Mikey stared at him, confused.

"Seriously, Patrick. I don't understand what's going on." Mikey chewed on his lip, looking at Patrick with worry.

Turning his head, Patrick looked squarely at Mikey. "Well? I just gave you a shitty first time and then I blurted out that I love you. It's pretty much the cheesiest, most cliché experience in the world," he sighed. "I'm so sorry, Mikey. I wanted your first time to be great and I wanted to tell you that I love you in some way... much less horrifyingly embarrassing."

Mikey was silent for a moment, looking down at where his hand ran over Patrick's chest. "I don't think it's horrifyingly embarrassing," he said at last. "I think it's... I think it's sweet and... wonderful." He smiled at Patrick in that way he did where his mouth barely moved but his happiness seemed most genuine. "And as for my first time, it was fine. I didn't expect it to last that long. Honestly."

Patrick frowned up at Mikey and exhaled sharply. "It's still disappointing," he sighed.

"Not really," Mikey replied with a half shrug. "It's not like we won't do it again."

Patrick gave a bitter laugh. "Uh, that didn't seem like it was too great for you. You want to do it again?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yeah," Mikey replied matter-of-factly. "Whenever you're ready to."

Blinking up at Mikey, Patrick let out a laugh. "You're serious?" he asked.

Mikey narrowed his eyes, looking confused. "Of course, I'm serious. Why wouldn't I be?" He nudged Patrick. "Really. It was starting to feel... better. Good, even."

“It was starting to feel good?” Patrick repeated. At Mikey’s nod, he felt a stirring in his gut. “Come here,” he murmured, pulling Mikey down to him for a kiss.

Mikey traced his fingers over Patrick’s chest, pinching his nipple until it was hard. Lowering his mouth to the nub of flesh, Mikey caught it between his teeth and tugged gently, causing Patrick to moan.

Wrapping his arm securely around Mikey’s waist, Patrick flipped him over and on to the mattress. “I think I’m ready,” he grinned, pushing Mikey’s legs apart.

Patrick repositioned himself against Mikey's ass and, his cock hard once again, entered him. He slid in more easily than he had the first time, Mikey's muscles still stretched out. It still felt incredible to be inside Mikey and to feel Mikey around him, but having just gotten off, Patrick wasn't nearly as sensitive this time.

"Is this okay?" Patrick asked softly, moving slowly and deliberately in and out of Mikey.

Mikey nodded his head decisively. "It's good," he assured Patrick, his eyes closed. "It feels good. Maybe if my legs are up a little," he offered, pulling his knees up closer to his chest.

Scooting up to more of a kneeling position, Patrick pushed Mikey's legs up, pressing his knees down toward his chest. "Like this?" he asked, balancing himself with his hands placed on the backs of Mikey's knees.

Mikey gasped, and Patrick could see Mikey's cock twitch as he pushed in again. "Yes, like that," Mikey said in a strained voice. "Just like that, right there." He reached down with one hand to stroke himself, but Patrick caught his hand.

"I've got it," he assured Mikey, taking a firm grip on his cock and stroking up and down.

Mikey made a strangled noise, his head arching back to expose his long neck. Patrick kept thrusting into Mikey, making careful movements in and out and trying to keep at the same angle that caused Mikey to shudder and moan.

"Fuck, Patrick," Mikey gasped as Patrick increased the speed of his hand on Mikey's cock to match the increasing speed of his thrusts. "Harder, please," he begged.

Patrick's gut twisted upon hearing Mikey ask for more, so obviously enjoying it this time. He pushed faster and harder into Mikey, his hips bumping against Mikey’s with each faster thrust. Mikey's breathing had become faster and heavier and he was making a high whining noise like he was about to lose it.

"Are you close?" Patrick asked and Mikey nodded his head quickly.

"So close, so close," he moaned. His mouth fell open as he arched his neck back, and Patrick felt the warmth of Mikey's come in his hand as he reached his release. Patrick kept stroking his cock until he was finished.

Patrick released Mikey from his grip and leaned forward, placing his hands on either side of Mikey as he slammed into Mikey, his own orgasm building low in his gut. He reached the point he knew he couldn't stop and he closed his eyes, enjoying the blissful moment of pleasure that came before everything exploded, coming in waves.

When he was finished, Patrick lowered himself on to Mikey, melting against his body before pulling out.

“That was amazing,” Mikey murmured into Patrick’s hair and Patrick could only manage to hum an affirmative response, his limbs feeling heavy and light at the same time as the aftershocks of his orgasm continued to pulse through his body.

They lay together for a time, neither saying anything. When the sweat and come between them started to feel uncomfortable, Patrick rolled off Mikey, reaching over for the tissue box to clean his boyfriend up.

Mikey lay there, smiling up at Patrick as he dabbed up the mess before tossing the tissues away. “Hey,” he said at last to get Patrick’s attention.

“Hey,” Patrick answered looking down at Mikey and stroking the hair back away from his face.

Mikey looked up a moment before returning his eyes to meet Patrick’s gaze. “I hope you don’t still feel awkward about earlier,” he said. “You know, about saying you love me?”

Patrick grimaced at being reminded of it, hoping that it could have been one of those things that was forgotten, but knowing that once something like that was said, it couldn’t be taken back. “It’s not that I don’t mean it,” Patrick tried to explain. “I do. I’ve known for a while now that I do. I just didn’t want to say it like that.”

Mikey reached up and covered Patrick’s mouth with the palm of his hand. “You don‘t need to explain,” he assured Patrick. “I know you love me.” His mouth twitched up slightly at the corner. “And I know I love you, too.” Taking Patrick by the arm, Mikey guided him down to the bed, maneuvering himself so he lay on Patrick’s chest. “So don’t feel awkward,” he said again.

Patrick smiled wide as he closed his eyes to fall asleep with Mikey in his arms. “I won’t,” he promised.

***

A Star Wars marathon, while an awesome concept, involved a lot of sitting and Patrick figured no one could fault him for letting his eyes close when the rebels landed on Endor. When he drifted back into consciousness, he was slumped against the back of the couch next to Mikey, their heads leaned together. His neck was at an awkward angle and the room was quiet, save for familiar voices.

“They look so happy,” Ashlee said. “I don’t want to disturb them.”

“So don’t disturb them,” Pete replied, his voice low. “Let’s take advantage of the situation, if you know what I mean.”

“Do not take advantage of the situation,” Patrick warned in an expressionless voice, his eyes still closed. “I don’t want Mikey to wake up and see you and be scarred for life.”

Patrick felt Mikey lift his head from where it was resting on top of Patrick’s and Patrick opened his eyes to watch as his boyfriend stretched his arms above his head, arching his back. “I’ve been awake for about a half an hour,” Mikey yawned. “Luke and Vader’s battle woke me up.” He turned to Patrick and gave him a warm smile. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Patrick replied, blinking back at Mikey. “You’ve been awake? You didn’t have to stay in this position with me. I bet your neck is stiff.” Reaching up, Patrick placed a hand on the back of Mikey’s neck, massaging it as Mikey tipped his head back and hummed in pleasure.

“It was comfortable,” Mikey reassured him. “And I didn’t want to wake you up,” he added. Looking over to where Pete and Ashlee sat on the other end of the couch, Mikey smirked. “Besides, I was listening to their conversation.”

Patrick looked from Mikey over to where Pete and Ashlee were staring at him. “What? What were they saying?”

“Nothing bad!” Pete insisted. “Just—“

“Just how we’re good together,” Mikey said, cutting Pete off. “And Pete’s really happy because you’re happy.” Leaning in, Mikey pressed a soft kiss against Patrick’s cheek.

Ashlee beamed over at them and then back to Pete. “See? This is much better now that we’re double dating,” she said as she leaned in to kiss Pete. “It’s not awkward anymore.”

“Nope,” Patrick decided, getting up from his seat and offering a hand up to help Mikey. “Still awkward. Less awkward, but still awkward.” He pulled Mikey to his feet and gave a wave. “I think we’ll be taking off now. Have fun. Make out. Do... whatever it is you two do. I’d like to be alone with my boyfriend for a while so we can do what it is that we do. In private.”

Mikey chuckled as he followed along after Patrick, giving a wave back at Pete and Ashlee as he took Patrick’s hand.

“Hey,” Pete called out after them. Patrick paused as he reached the door and looked back. “Remember when you told me you didn’t want to date someone just to date them?” he continued. “You wanted to find the right person?”

Patrick furrowed his brow in thought. “Sort of?” he replied.

Pete smiled and nodded. “I knew you found the right person that day at the record store. It just took you a little longer to figure it out.”

Patrick glanced over to Mikey and gave an embarrassed smile. “Cuz I’m kind of slow sometimes.”

Without missing a beat, Mikey punched Patrick lightly in the arm.

“Ow,” Patrick laughed as he opened the door.

“Popeye,” Mikey reminded him, following him out.


End file.
